Best Laid Schemes: An Empyrean Story
by L Zaza
Summary: Fourth in the Empyrean Series. While on patrol, Starbuck and Luana scan a planet, eerily similar to Earth. Have they finally reached their destination? Or is the beauty of the blue and white planet merely a smokescreen for something more nefarious?
1. Chapter 1

Best-Laid Schemes—An Empyrean Story

By Lisa Zaza

The best laid schemes of mice and men,  
Go oft awry,  
And leave us nought but grief and pain,  
For promised joy.

Robert Burns

xxx

Chapter One

When Ama, the Empyrean Necromancer, stood and spoke as a member of the Council of the Twelve, it was with both an eloquence, as well as a force of personality, that Adama had seldom seen in any bureautician, especially a woman. There was an internal strength and manner of purpose to her that shone through, making her seem larger than life with a confidence that was both enthralling and entertaining. However, Adama noticed it also distracted the listener from what she was actually _saying_, even though he found himself nodding along in agreement anyways. It oft made him wonder if she was using some Empyrean powers of the mind on them all, though he had always considered himself beyond such manipulations.

Now what was that she was saying . . .?

"The time is nigh that we unite fully as not only as the Twelve Tribes and those under the protection of the Colonial Union, but as brothers of man, my fellow Council Members. One people moving forth to our ultimate destiny, the planet Earth. I propose that with this in mind that we dedicate a thirteenth seat on our Council. A seat honouring our sister planet, and our future homeworld. Our hopes, our dreams, indeed, our very salvation. A seat that would represent those that we would ask for help and shelter, _proving_ that we have both Earth's best interests in mind, as well as our own. This seat, I'm sure you will all agree—as would his faithful friends and compatriots—could only be filled by one man, Commander Mark Dayton of the Earth Space Shuttle _Endeavour_."

"Ama, might I clarify, do you envision this seat giving Commander Dayton the same privileges as other members of the Council, or would it be more honorary in nature?" Adama asked her, feeling the need to take his feet, as the woman remained standing on the far side of the Council table to answer any interrogatives.

"Well, I would suggest that if the purpose of this appointment is to have the thirteenth tribe fully represented, as are the other twelve, then it would be logical that Commander Dayton would not only be able to participate and contribute, but to vote on issues of Council concern." Ama returned rationally. "After all, until we reach Earth and the Cylons are defeated utterly and for all time, the same hardships and dangers threaten us all."

"Quite so." Siress Tinia agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

"Have you discussed the matter with Commander Dayton?" Adama asked, despite knowing that she would never present it to Council unless she was reasonably sure of Dayton's cooperation. Some time back, when he had casually overheard Starbuck discussing the matter in a more teasing nature with the NASA Commander—though with Starbuck, one never knew—Adama had thought him ambivalent and even resistant to the idea of actually sitting in their government. Of course, then the likelihood of that happening was practically nonexistent. Perhaps Dayton's feelings had changed?

"Commander Dayton has advised me that, upon invitation from the Council, he would seriously consider the great honour, should we choose to bestow it on him" Ama inserted smoothly. "He takes his responsibility to his people seriously, as I'm sure anyone who has met him would attest to."

"My dear lady, traditionally throughout the yahrens, position on Council has been justified through democratic representation of the populace." Sire Anton inserted, choosing to stay seated. "Commander Dayton and his men only represent five individuals. We are not even certain that they're descendants of the thirteenth tribe."

"A salient point, Sire Anton." Adama agreed, taking his seat again as another voice lent support to his own position. There were certain advantages to having Dayton on Council in some kind of capacity, such as keeping a close eye on the outspoken and now celebrated individual who was not afraid to voice his opinions. It would allow him to vent his criticisms of military and bureaucratic decisions in an appropriate forum, rather than in public on the IFB. However, being a man who valued tradition, Adama also felt that an official seat wasn't justified.

"Yet, as Ama pointed out, we must begin to plan ahead, and to think of Earth as a destination that must be valued and protected at all costs if it is indeed going to be the home of future generations." Siress Tinia offered. "I believe if a Fleet of refugees landed on Earth's doorstep, potentially with great technological advances over our brethren, that our brothers on Earth might consider us to be more of a threat, than long lost family."

"Yes, I concede your point. From some of their 'movies', the people of Earth seem to be rather paranoid about an attack from 'outer space', as they call it." Sire Domra added. "Martians, Klingons, Flying Saucers . . ." He shook his head in bemusement. "They seemed rather preoccupied with the potential threat of other planets and solar systems, even those proven unable to sustain life as we know it."

"It does make one wonder how we would be perceived," Ama agreed. "But if we could present our own . . ." She paused dramatically, eyes turning towards the ceiling as if she was in thought. "Our own Official Earth Liaison Officer, it might ease the shock of our arrival. I'm sure it would be comforting to Earthmen to know that a respected and decorated officer of the United States Armed Forces had some input in our eventual arrival."

"An Earth Liaison Officer." Adama stroked his chin thoughtfully, realizing it would be an effective strategy with the best interests of Earth and her people in mind. "An honorary seat permitting Commander Dayton to influence policy through participation in Council Meetings, but not by direct vote."

"Hear! Hear!" Anton added. "An acceptable compromise that would illustrate that we took our responsibility to Earth seriously, and didn't just expect that she would receive us with open arms."

Adama nodded, as he looked around the Council table. The complexion of Council had changed drastically with the death of Sire Dracus and the election of some younger representatives to Council. Several more 'self-serving' bureauticians, Sires Uri and Geller among them, had failed to be re-elected, as had one or two blustering idiots—for lack of a more 'bureaucratically correct' phrase—Sire Geller specifically coming to mind. It was a clear message from the people that they were ready for a change. Less did the Council concern themselves with honouring and prolonging millennia old traditions, and more did they focus on their future.

And for the first time since the Destruction, the Council unanimously agreed—at least for the time being—that their future was Earth.

xxxxxxxxxx

A blue and white planet, looking like the most exquisite, and rarest of jewels, in the vastness of space.

Starbuck had no idea where that thought came from, and if any of Blue Squadron heard him say it out loud, they'd claim he'd gone soft. But, then again, the most dashing and eligible male in the Fleet was currently engaged to be sealed to an Empyrean Princess, so what the frack . . . maybe it _was_ true.

In any case, Commander Adama had given clear and specific orders to geotechnically scan this planet—the third of nine from the sun in this solar system—within a centimetron of its core with every remote sensing method and device at their disposal, all the while staying a respectable distance from the surface. Starbuck hadn't missed the inference, or the way Adama's eyes had sparkled with excitement. This pretty hunk of rock could very well be Earth.

"Tell me again how we happen to be flying together. I want to get my story straight for when the Captain dresses us down." Luana chuckled from her cockpit, as her computer began displaying data on the planet they were sent to check out. Apollo had been endeavouring to keep them apart on patrols since they had both returned to active duty, not wanting their concentration affected by their concern for the other. It was only a matter of time before the Strike Captain made it official and transferred either her or Starbuck out of Blue Squadron, and she had a pretty good idea it wouldn't be Starbuck.

"It's just a routine patrol, Lu. How much trouble can we get in?" Starbuck chuckled when she snorted in return. "Apollo broke his arm playing hover-hockey with the Earthmen this morning. He's in the Life Station having it mended. You were on standby. Somebody had to pull patrol with me, and you had the least amount of cockpit time, _and_ were next up on the roster." Starbuck replied, hitting the switches that transmitted his scans back to the _Galactica _in real-time. So far, the planet looked ideal for replenishing their supplies, and had the perfect environment for Humans. However, there was a conspicuous absence of anything that could be considered 'civilized' life down there. Not a single Human to be identified among the many life signs that were generally animal at a quick glance. He tightened his orbit of the planet, and concentrated his scanners on a heavily forested area in the northern temperate zone. Lu did the same, altering her own orbit to similarly scan another part of the single continental landmass, this one covered in semi-desert terrain. Starbuck swallowed down that hope that he had only allowed to rise ever so slightly, while awaiting the results of their surveys. Truthfully, he had come to accept some time ago that his generation would never actually see Earth. At least until John, from the Ship of Lights, had intimated that Commander Dayton would act as some kind of liaison for them when they finally arrived there. Ever since then, in the four sectars and five days since encountering the Earthmen, every new solar system that they encountered brought with it a heightened sense of expectation and excitement.

"You're the one who put me on standby, according to Boomer," she pointed out, knowing he had done a little creative manoeuvring to get them to fly together. Flying with Starbuck was always like a refresher course, and far more invigorating than any mere simulation. He would put her through the paces, honing and refining her skills to ensure she would be ready when she finally did encounter hostiles in space. "Hover-hockey? What's that?"

Starbuck sniffed, as he shifted in the cockpit. "Well, it's an Earth game that Ryan introduced us to, but there were a few problems with reproducing it the way they used to play it. First, it's played on ice, so Baker and Hummer designed some hover-shoes. . ."

"Hover-shoes?"

"Pretty much the way you'd imagine them, with miniature suspensors on the soles. You can really get your speed up." Starbuck grinned. It was the closest he had come to breaking a speed limit indoors. "They take some getting used to though, and we haven't perfected a good way to stop yet." Truthfully, it hadn't occurred to the master designers that they needed to be able to stop. It had made their first game—more of an introduction to the sport—an experience that none of them would forget, especially Apollo, and they all had the bruises to remind them.

"Which fairly much proves you're _crazy_ for even thinking about using them," Luana laughed. "So...when do I get to try them?"

"I had a feeling you'd see it that way," Starbuck replied with a grin. It was one of the things that he loved about her. Her thirst for adventure and fun rivalled his own. "Oh, and the area that they usually play on is a lot bigger than anything we have available, so we had to make do."

"Where did you play?"

"The Empyrean Ballroom on the _Malocchio_." Starbuck replied.

"The Ballroom? I thought that was essentially a storeroom these days?"

"Well, with our Sealing Ceremony practically around the corner . . ."

"Starbuck, it's eight sectars away!" There was a note of desperation to her voice.

He laughed, knowing just how she felt. Eight sectars and three days was the official countdown. "Yeah, well, tell that to Ama." The Empyrean Necromancer seemed to shove something under his nose every time he saw her regarding the '_Social Event of the Yahren'_. Frankly, he was amazed that she even had the time to squander on frippery and folly since she had been elected to the Council of the Twelve. However, contrary to his expectations, it hadn't slowed her down. Not one little bit! Not only was she still running _Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists_, she still insisted on acting as their Sealing Coordinator as well, especially since neither he or Lu had seemed particularly interested in putting any effort forth on their own behalf, feeling it was all getting a little out of hand. Guest lists, seating arrangements, recommendations for musicians, menus, flowers, decorating, denomination of the ceremony, not to mention a choice as to _who_ they wanted to perform it . . . Lords, it made a guy want to run the other way! Screaming. "Anyhow, she's cleared most of the felgercarb away already. It's beautiful, Lu. Looks just like it did for the Empyrean Ball they had, just before we found you. Beautiful hardwood floors polished to perfection . . ."

"Just right for hover-hockey," she smiled ruefully at the irony. "So, Apollo broke his arm? Let me guess. Trouble stopping?"

"Well, actually, _Dickins _broke it for him when Apollo couldn't stop and barrelled into him. Dickins had control of the hover-puck though, so from what I understand about the game, Apollo had every right to slam into him." Ryan had assured Starbuck that his impression that the rules changed for the Earthling's convenience and advantage was simply his imagination. "I'm reasonably sure it was an accident though."

"Reasonably sure?" Luana asked.

"Dickins gets a bit _intense_ at times. He makes Dayton look good-natured and even-tempered," Starbuck explained wryly.

"Good-natured? The man who took a broadsword, and made cutlets out of Sire Dracus? _Good-natured__?"_

"Well, everybody has a bad day, Lu. Besides, better 'Councilman cutlets' than 'Colonial Warrior cutlets', I always say."

"Maybe Dickins is having a hard time adapting," Luana suggested, ignoring her lover's banter. She knew that the relationship between Dayton and Starbuck had changed irrevocably when the Earthman saved his neck—as well as other bits better left unmentioned—from the deranged bureautician. "It can't be easy when you've spent the last thirty yahrens as a prisoner, Starbuck. Think about it. Especially when you don't speak Colonial Standard and have to carry a languatron around with you to communicate. Maybe you should be a bit more sensitive to that." Her tone was matter of fact. On a smaller scale, she and her Empyreans had had a difficult time adjusting to life in the Fleet from a backwards little planet where they lived in a cave, had a Healer with a propensity for bleeding the ill, and had little in the way of modern conveniences or technological advances. Of course, Starbuck had certainly eased that transition for herself and her sister, Lia.

"I'll try to keep it in mind the next time he body-slams me," Starbuck replied with a sniff, though he knew she was right. Dayton had told him more or less the same thing. That a man couldn't survive that kind of mental and physical trauma, and still come out whole.

"Star-buck." Luana drew out the syllables.

"C'mon, Lu. Who has done more for the Earthlings than me? From what my father was saying, those guys have become wealthy men just on the kickbacks from the _Rising Star_." The Journey to Earth idea he had come up with had merely launched the phenomenon. Starbuck had known it would be a natural progression. It was Earthmania, as Ryan had declared to Chameleon, the official Public Relations Man for _Earthling Enterprises, Inc_. Everything remotely to do with Earth was a huge hit. Their collection of 'movies', the free lectures that Dayton and Ryan had done on Earth Culture and History throughout the Fleet, an IFB series of Earth documentaries, Earth food and drink items popping up at restaurants and bars, even astronaut action figures and models of the _Endeavour_ for the kids. There didn't seem to be an end to the marketing possibilities. Any day now, the old Earth space shuttle would be transferred to the Astrodon Freighter and be made available to the public for viewing. Her crew and quite a few volunteers had worked tirelessly to try and put her back together again over the last few sectars, or as close as they could get to the original condition, the availability of parts necessitating some modifications. Dayton was determined to fly her there himself. Tickets to tour her were already sold out for the next six sectars.

"Which in turn, means Chameleon is doing fairly well for himself." Luana added.

"It's keeping him honest." Starbuck inserted. The old conman had been far too busy managing the Earthmen's business affairs to get involved in anything that could be considered questionable, either legally or ethically. Well, other than when he had decided to help manage Ama's campaign when she ran for Council. The two had become thick as thieves, which was a little unnerving. The Necromancer and the Conman. It had all the makings of a bad joke.

Or the next primetime sitcom on IFB.

"He must be bored stiff." Luana laughed. She looked out her cockpit, at the lushly fertile world below, then at her scanners. Despite a massive biosphere and what looked like millions of species down there, there was not one single reading that even resembled a Human. _Damn._ She had hoped. She tweaked her orbit, as she crossed over into the nightside, to scan more of the same extensive landmass. It was huge.

"Not while he's making cubits," Starbuck grinned, glancing at his control panel as it beeped. Over the open circuit, he could hear her scanners beeping as well.

"Starbuck . . ."

"I've got it, Lu." It took a milli-centon for him to recognize it as he checked the warbook. Frack! "Hit the turbos! Get out of here!"

"What is it?" Luana asked, her body tense as it responded to the anxiety in Starbuck's voice. She hightailed it away from the small, innocuous looking spheroid, only visible to the naked eye because it seemed to be glowing slightly.

"Patrol to _Galactica_, this is Viper Two." Starbuck was the consummate professional once again. "We've detected a Dynamo, exactly like we picked up over the Pirate Asteroid. It appears inert for the moment. Taking evasive manoeuvres."

"What would a Dynamo be doing here?" Luana asked him. As far as she knew, Dr. Wilker and his team had never identified the origin of the spheroids that the pirates had utilized to incapacitate ships that they had ultimately scavenged. When they had dissected one, the technology was so advanced and unknown, the Science Ship was still in the initial stages of trying to come up with some kind of explanation as to their actual mode of operation. The scientists had been reasonably sure though, after studying endless algorithms, that they weren't actually designed to be a _weapon_. Starbuck had sworn up and down that Wilker needed to experience being fired on by one of them, and then sitting paralyzed in a defunct Viper as it was towed into an enemy base. Then the scientist would approach that particular unsolved problem with a less nonsensical outlook. Apollo was inclined to agree with him.

"I don't know, but it doesn't exactly fill me with a warm, fuzzy feeling about this place . . ."

"Starbuck!" Her tone of voice a warning unto itself.

Then a bright beam of blue laser shot past his ship, but not on a vector from the detected Dynamo. Where the frack did that come from? And why hasn't it dissipated?

"_Galactica_ to patrol, report!" Athena, all business as usual, at least on the surface.

"Under attack!" Starbuck replied briskly, rolling his ship to the starboard, nodding in approval when he saw Lu go the other way. The energy beam was still there, and now seemed to be expanding both vertically and horizontally, corralling him in on that side. He changed course, trying to evade its widening path.

"Another Dynamo, Starbuck. Frack!" Luana rolled her ship again, as a second beam, shot past her, seemingly intent on cutting off her escape on that heading.

"They're triangulating!" Starbuck cried, as the two beams met at a vertex and connected, the beam growing larger and more powerful still, as a third blue streak began to close the polygon on his scanners. "_Galactica_, we're in trouble!"

Then the third beam met the other two, and the encompassed area began to fill with the glowing light. It was a web of energy designed to ensnare everything within it, like a monstrous net. Starbuck blinked as it began to rotate, finally closing in around his ship, and no doubt, Lu's. The power to his Viper abruptly died, and he shuddered as the energy penetrated him, making his body tingle with an intensity that made him gasp in shock. Strangely, it wasn't painful, especially comparing it to the last time he'd tangled with a Dynamo. He tried to speak, but he couldn't. Again, he was paralyzed by the effect of the spheroids, just like he had been sectars ago, in a different place and situation. This time it seemed gentler, somehow. Less offensive.

At least until the blue beam intensified around his body. Eyes wide, he watched as his frame seemed to be split into a grid pattern, the bright glow starting at his boots and working its way towards his head. He tried to suck in a rasping breath, barely able to breathe at all, as each cell systematically began to disappear before his eyes. It was like a hand knit sweater coming unravelled with a casual pull of some powerful, unidentified hand. To add to the terror, the Viper was also unravelling around him.

If he could scream, he would have. Closer and closer, each molecular cell—each tiny piece of him—erased before his eyes, until everything from his chest down was gone. It was like being consumed alive! But by what? His mind steadfastly rejected what was happening before his eyes, as he watched himself carved up into miniscule pieces, processed, and removed from existence. The very worst part was he was alert, and excruciatingly aware of it the entire time.

Fleetingly, he thought of Lu, well aware that he had failed to protect her. He tried to close his eyes, unable to watch anymore, but even that small voluntary movement was denied him. Finally, he prayed that the end would come quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Report, Colonel," Adama ordered, slightly out of breath from racing to the Bridge from the Council meeting.

"Our patrol was attacked while scanning the planet, Sir. Lieutenant Starbuck reported sighting Dynamos just before we lost communications."

"Dynamos?" Adama asked as his executive officer nodded. "Telemetry?"

Tigh inclined his head towards Omega's monitor. "On screen."

His first sight of the blue and white planet. Adama caught his breath at its beauty, as well as the stunning similarities to Earth that he had seen in some of Commander Dayton's 'movies' and documentaries. A star system with nine planets and one sun. The third planet from their star. As was this. Not for the first time since they had entered that star system, he wondered, could it be? Are we there?

Then a blue ray of light shot past Viper Two, and Adama's pulse quickened as he watched the beam widen, systematically ensnaring and disabling the Vipers. The transmission abruptly died.

"Tigh?"

"We don't know, Sir." Tigh's mouth settled into a thin line before continuing. "It was as if they simply disappeared. Spectro-analysis didn't pick up any traces of an explosion though."

"Short-range beacons?"

"Nothing," Tigh conceded. "Probably disabled with the radion waves, Commander. Currently, the energy readings from the planet's orbit are off the scale. And there are similar, but even more intense radion waves that we've detected on the surface."

"Yet, there were no such readings before our patrol began to survey the planet?" Adama clarified.

"None, Sir. At least not since we've been within scanning range. I've sent a copy of the transmission to Dr. Wilker for his input."

"What kind of effect could these radion emissions have on our pilots, should they actually make it to the surface?"

"I'm afraid that's a question better suited for Dr. Salik." Tigh replied, but his dour mien suggesting they both knew the grim reality of that issue.

Adama nodded soberly. "Who was with Starbuck?" he asked, well aware that Apollo was supposed to be pulling this patrol. However, unexpectedly, the Strike Captain had ended up in the Life Station.

"Ensign Luana, Sir."

"Dear God . . ." Adama murmured, instantly wondering how the betrothed couple had managed to be assigned to the same patrol. An image of a certain lieutenant resistant to inconvenient, but conventional rules and regulations came to mind. "Have my son report to the Bridge."

"Yes, Sir."

Adama turned, then glanced at the image of the blue and white planet on the monitor once again as he quickly looked over preliminary geotechnical surveys. "Tigh." He paused as the atmospheric conditions and composition results crossed the screen. "Ask Commander Dayton to report to the Bridge as well."

xxxxxxxxxx

The clouds flew across the sky with a speed that he had never before seen, and the ridiculous notion of a celestial stampede came to mind, as the heavenly bodies seemed to surge against one another, urging the next onward. Then the sun broke through their cover, shining on him before dropping into the horizon with a suddenness that barely gave him time to register the incredible sunset, the sky alight with a brief, burnished orange glow. Complete darkness surrounded him all too quickly, and the sky filled with stars that were so bright that he swore he should be able to reach up and pluck them out of the air. With that in mind, he raised a hand tentatively, only to realize he was still in his cockpit . He had barely tapped the canopy with his fingers, when a glow of light drew his attention and he turned his head to see the sun rising majestically once again.

He blinked as he watched it over and over, an endless cycle that could only mean one thing. What the frack was in that last fumarello you smoked, Bucko?

As he lay slumped there, he became aware of the vegetation around him sprouting up around his ship. With far more effort than it should have taken, he lifted his head and sat forward, peering through the closed canopy as a colour reminiscent of lavendula gradually encroached upon him before the sun dropped below the horizon again. Yet another sunrise brought enough light to display an endless sea of huge purple flowers, more like the purple panthelons of Empyrean, and he was enclosed somewhere within it. He paused to watch one single blossom unfurl petal by delicate petal, before withering and dying before his eyes, all in the space of microns.

Then it abruptly stopped, and time seemed to stand still.

xxxxxxxxxx

"This is an informal meeting. Please feel free to contribute any and all ideas." Adama reminded those who were gathered in his office, Colonel Tigh, Captain Apollo, Lieutenants Boomer and Sheba, Dr. Wilker, and Technician Hummer. In addition, three of the Earthmen, Commander Dayton, Lieutenant Colonel Baker and Dr. Ryan, were also present. "We have few facts and many questions, as I'm sure you're all aware from Colonel Tigh's briefing."  
"Where do we start?" Ryan asked, his long, grey hair still tied back in a queue, and his clothing increasingly casual with each additional day he spent in 'retirement'.  
Adama was struck by the extreme nonchalance of the man's attire. A flower-print shirt, short trousers, and sandals, the entire ensemble reportedly known on Earth in some quarters as 'beach bum' and in others, as 'granola'. In glaring contrast, next to him Dayton wore a suit of a strange cut, which was in actuality part of a reproduced U.S. Air Force uniform, cut to his specifications by a tailor on the _Rising Star_. Straight-legged trousers, long sleeved shirt that buttoned up the front, sleeves casually rolled up to below his elbows and neck opened up at the collar. Bit by bit, Dayton had declared, he was getting 'back to normal'.  
"Can we safely get past the Dynamos and launch a rescue mission?" Apollo asked, looking to Wilker and Hummer. "Right now that's all that matters."  
"We can't honestly answer that, Captain. These Dynamos responded differently than the ones we encountered at the pirate asteroid," Wilker replied.

"What did you find out from the Dynamos we retrieved from the pirate asteroid base?" Apollo asked, suddenly wondering why he had never laid eyes on that report.

"I'm embarrassed to say that we haven't figured out how to open them yet." Wilker replied with a frown. "And with something that potentially can release such immeasurable amounts of energy and be used as a weapon, I'm not about to crack them open like a nut." He shrugged, looking to Hummer.

"They're like nothing we've seen before. Even the concentrated composition analysis identifies some unknown substances. They're utterly alien to us, and still a mystery."

Wilker nodded, "It should be noted that the various wavelon spikes recorded at the pirate base do not correlate exactly with the new Dynamos."

"Yeah, those ones disabled our ships, these incinerated them!" Boomer inserted.

"We don't know that for sure, Boomer," Apollo objected, still looking battered from his 'game' with the Earthmen that morning.

"There's an interference from the energy wavelons on the surface that's acting to effectively disable our scanners when we focus them on the planet. We haven't been able to get an acceptable reading on life forms or the presence of the two missing Vipers since Starbuck and Luana went missing. All the same, I'm not giving up on them until there's some proof that they're dead"

"I wasn't suggesting that we do." Boomer let out a deep breath, his jaw set. "We have to find out what happened to them. If they're down there, and they need help . . ."

Sheba nodded beside him. "Don't forget the added possibility of radion sickness. Depending on how long they're exposed . . ." She shook her head, looking ill at the possibility.

"Yes. We understand that timing could be a factor," Tigh replied. "But first we have to be reasonably sure that the same thing—as far as the Dynamos go—isn't going to happen to the rescue party. Or any other ship that gets close to the planet."

Boomer nodded shortly, "Yes, sir."

Hummer raised a hand hesitantly. "I know this is going to sound far-fetched, but just as I have been focusing on the Dynamo as a weapon, Dr. Wilker has been focusing on it as a potential form of malleable energy."

"Malleable energy?" Dayton asked. "What the hell's that?"

xxxxxxxxxx

His eyes flickered open, and in a rush, it all came back to him. The mission, the sudden appearance of the Dynamos, the equally sudden attack, and the terrifying sensation of helplessly watching yourself being lasered out of existence. Starbuck bolted upright from where he had slumped down into his cockpit. One thought was foremost in his mind.

"Luana!"

He twisted his head sharply, spotting a Viper alongside his own, sitting in some kind of meadow covered in foliage. Within the other cockpit he could see Lu, her head slumped forward. Instantly, he tried to open the Unicom. Nothing. No response. His concern rising, he hit his canopy release, hearing a welcome click. The canopy jerked and he counted the microns impatiently as the hydraulic actuator kicked in. He pulled off his helmet, waiting for enough space to squeeze out of the fighter.

Then he was over the side, jumping to the surface, and racing to Lu's ship through thick vegetation. Or at least he would have been if the world hadn't pitched violently to the right all of a sudden. Like a drunken man, he tumbled to the ground, shaking his head and blinking his eyes, trying to fight the waves of dizziness and nausea. Apparently, that little merry-go-round ride from Hades Hole wasn't just a figment of his imagination . . . at least that's what his abrupt lack of equilibrium was telling him.  
He took a slow, deep breath, steadying himself. He needed to get to Lu. Nothing else mattered. He crawled the rest of the way to the Viper, struggling through the masses of foliage, and then used the ship to pull himself upright. His vision still hazy, his fingers ran over the fighter until he found the panel he was looking for. He pulled it open, and activated the canopy release.  
Handhold, foothold, a familiar path that he followed by rote. He was up and looking into the fighter long before the canopy cleared. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered impatiently as it finally opened enough for him to lean inside. "Lu!"

"Ohhh!" she groaned, her head lolling back. "What . . . what happened?" Her voice was thick. After a micron, she looked up and recognized him. "Starbuck . . . what the Hades Hole happened. . .?"

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning forward and removing her helmet with shaky hands. He swallowed down the lump of fear that had lodged in his throat, and looked her over carefully, still feeling his heart pounding like a tambour in his chest. Lords, too many times now he had had to wonder if he'd lost her. At times like this, he wished he'd never supported her dream of becoming a Colonial Warrior, let alone a Viper pilot. Yeah, better she was tucked away safely on the _Malocchio_ brewing ale and curing fumarellos so he wouldn't have to worry about her. All this fretting over his ladylove was definitely bad for a guy's bio-pulse lines. But somehow he knew she probably wouldn't see it the same way . . .

"What. . ."

"You're okay," he told her, trying to sound reassuring, but dredging up a convincing smile for her was next to impossible.

_Where's the game face, Bucko?_

"That's funny, I don't feel . . . okay," she replied, plainly unconvinced.

"I know," he returned, pushing a tendril of hair out of her eyes, before adding, "We need to try and contact the _Galactica_." She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question as he pulled on her helmet and tried to fire up the comm from the console.

"_Galactica_, this is Viper Three. Do you read?" He flicked the switch, but with no result. He flicked it again, his mouth tightening in a thin line as he began trying to boot up the systems. Any systems. "_Galactica_, this is Viper Three. Do you read? Frack!"

"No comm?" she murmured, running a hand over eyes that were refusing to focus quite right.

"No nothing. She's deader than Lord Sagan himself."

"What about yours?" Luana asked, glancing over towards his Viper.

"I didn't try to contact base . . . yet," he replied, pulling the helmet off.

"Oh."

"What?" he asked, recognizing the edge of defensiveness in his own voice. So maybe he normally would have tried to contact the Fleet first, but if it had been any number of his good friends unconscious in the other Viper he would have done the same thing. . . Wouldn't he?

"I just thought," Lu looked at him for a moment, then shook her head briefly, ". . . nothing."

"What?" Starbuck insisted.

"Well, that you would have tried it first. Contacted the Bridge and let them know that we were alive."

He blinked. "Well, I had this strange compulsion to make sure you were still alive first. So litigate me. Sire Solon's not busy right now, I hear." With that he slipped off the nose of her fighter and stormed towards his bird, shoving aside the thick stalks of dried grass.

Starbuck shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his betrothed—an ensign, still wet behind the ears—was giving him grief over not following protocol to the letter, because he had let his concern for her get in the way. He could almost hear Apollo whispering in his ear from when Starbuck had formally requested—over a glass of Empyrean ale—that Luana and Lia be put under his supervision as cadets. I have some concerns, Starbuck. I'm worried that your relationship with Luana and Lia may influence your behaviour with them.

Influence _his _behaviour. Of course, when Starbuck had thrown it back in Apollo's face about Serina having been his wingman at one time, the captain had relented. And after all, Starbuck had been only a friend and mentor to both young women then—though every Colonial Warrior in the Fleet seemed to have trouble believing it. Even Cassiopeia had wondered, and as it turned out, she had good reason to.

Yeah, the lieutenant felt as if he'd been under the influence of the Empyreans for some time now. Ama, Luana, Lia, the Empyrean Quorum, and numerous other players had somehow managed to turn his once carefree and orderly lifestyle—at least that was the way he remembered it—into a mockery of its former existence. Of course, meeting astronuts from Earth and finding out that Chameleon was his father had added to the drama. No wonder he was now having anxiety attacks, and crawling on hands and knees across some strange planet, desperate to find out if his betrothed was dead or alive. All too frequently, he might add. Only to have her criticize him for it, he reminded himself.

He leaned over, picking up his discarded helmet from beneath the fighter, for a tempting instant just wanting to boot it into next secton instead. He pulled it on and scaled the Viper, jumping into the cockpit and going through the same procedures all over again.

"Viper Two to _Galactica, _come in." Nothing. "This is Viper Two, calling the _Galactica. _Do you read?" Total silence, not even the hint of static or hiss.

He closed his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath and letting it out. Whether it was the Dynamos, the after effects, or the fact that they were now marooned, he felt like pounding the mong out of his console. Instead, he pulled off his helmet, throwing it roughly to the ground, and ran a hand back through his hair.

No communications, no transportation, the Dynamos still active and part of some weird network of weaponry, it wasn't looking good for a quick rescue. He looked around briefly to see a fertile landscape covered in large purple flowers mixed with long yellow grasses, an abundance of trees and an incredibly blue lake against the backdrop of a hillside and waterfall. It appeared they were in some kind of valley. Lu was standing by her fighter, also studying their surroundings. Her skills for surviving in the wilderness probably surpassed his after all those yahrens on Empyrean. Shelter, water, protection, food . . . they both had their survival kits, their weapons . . . he could probably rig something to signal the _Galactica_ . . . or maybe he could first manually reboot the flight computer. . .at the very least get his emergency beacon working . . .

He jerked off the control panel and got to work.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander?" Wilker asked, gestured towards the monitor on his desk.

"Go ahead Doctor," Adama replied, rising.

"Thank you." Wilker replied, taking the Commander's place at his desk and inputting some data. He tapped the keys again, and a graphic was displayed. "Now, we used the elevated radion signature from our recorded data at the pirate asteroid field to pinpoint the locations of the Dynamos surrounding the planet using the _Galactica_'s scanners."

"Does this planet have a name?" Ryan asked suddenly, glancing from Dayton to Adama and back again. He leaned forward, examining the image closely.

"Uh . . . no, Dr. Ryan." Wilker inserted for them, when the two Commanders deigned to respond. Dayton was looked at his friend suspiciously. "At least not one known to us. We've only just discovered it."

"Just seems awkward to keep referring to it as 'the planet'. Can't we call it something?" Ryan suggested, getting both a nod of approval and a grunt of agreement from Baker. "Planet 'P', or something? For the sake of expediency?"

"I don't think it's really all that important, that . . ." Wilker began.

"Planet 'P' actually looks a lot like Earth," Ryan added. "Did anyone else notice that?"

"Earth?" Apollo asked, his head snapping up.

"Yeah, Earth," Ryan replied. "Early Earth. Before coffee and the morning constitutional. Mark?"

Dayton's eyes narrowed as he nodded slowly. "It does." He paused as he felt their gazes upon him. Better get used to it, Dayton, especially if Ama gets her way. "Can you sharpen up the image of that landmass, Dr. Wilker?" Wilker adjusted the image of the planet, stripping away the cloud cover, and flattening it to something that the Earthman recognized as a Mercator Projection. He studied it a few moments. "There's a theory that in an earlier geological epoch, the seven continents that now make up most of Earth's current landmass, made up one vast supercontinent, much like this one." He traced the basic outline of the landmass with one finger. "Scientists called it _Pangaea_. Over the years, tectonic plates—internally rigid crustal blocks of the lithosphere which move horizontally across the earth's surface relative to one another—were responsible for the gradual movement, collision and division of continents, as some of you would have seen in our Journey to Earth presentation."

"You mean that planet could be . . . Earth?" Sheba asked hesitantly.

"Not unless she's a relative baby in this space-time continuum," Ryan replied with a shake of the head before second-guessing himself and pausing to look at his friends in question.

"Isn't that possible?" Boomer asked. "After all, you said that when you went through the wormhole, that time as well as distance could have been distorted." He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that they hadn't detected any life known as Human on initial scans. So how could the Thirteenth Tribe have landed there and made the impact that had been illustrated so clearly by Dayton and his crew? It didn't make any sense. He could see the other Colonials were thinking along the same wavelength. At least they looked just as confused as he felt.

"What do you think, Dayton? Are we there yet?" Ryan asked with a grin.

"Don't make me pull this Battlestar over, Ryan." Dayton retorted, before looking to Boomer. "Hey, that whole wormhole theory is just _that_. A _theory_. Mostly discussed by men who had imbibed heavily in Asteroid Whiskey, and had only a few tenuous threads of data to build upon," Dayton reminded them. "For lack of a better explanation, we settled on the wormhole." After all, how many science fiction writers had used the same formula over the years? No explanation for the plotline? Then blame it on God, the Devil, or a wormhole. Worked for TV, anyway.

"I think there's more to it than that," Hummer nodded back towards the Scientist.

"Oh, right." Ryan murmured, realizing he had taken them off topic.

"Yes, what were you saying, Dr. Wilker?" Dayton asked.

"Well, we managed to chart the position of the Dynamos in relation to the planet . . ." he was unable to ignore Ryan's expectant glance, " . . . Planet 'P'. Now the area of 'P' is approximately 510,900,000 square kilometrons." He paused as Ryan and Baker began to snicker. Dayton stared hard at them for a moment and they contained themselves in short order. "For every 12,772,500 square kilometrons is one Dynamo in a parking orbit above the planet. The altitude is almost exactly equal to the planet's circumference, and equidistant from the others, blanketing the entire planet's surface. Obviously, this range far exceeds anything that we saw while interacting with those at the pirate asteroid."

"Interacting? He has an uncanny ability for making it sound exceedingly polite." Boomer said aside to Apollo.

"Therefore, I'm theorizing that these Dynamos are meant to be more than just sentinels for this planet," Wilker elucidated. "That the energy beams that they emit are actually meant to affect the planet's physical structure—its crust, oceans, even its atmosphere—in a formative process."

"Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that this planet is being . . ." Dayton paused as he looked at the other, "terraformed?"

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that term." Dayton briefly explained, and Wilker nodded. "Yes. What I'm suggesting is a process of planetary engineering, Commander Dayton. And the Dynamos are the guardians as well as the expeditors of the process."  
"Uh, Doc, a guy's got to ask . . ." Ryan shifted from one foot to the other. "Who set this whole process in motion?"

"Exactly." Adama echoed the thought. "Who's technologically capable of such an undertaking? And the fact that the planet's atmosphere is so ideal for Human life . . ." He exchanged looks with his son.

"This science is so beyond anything that we're capable of . . ." Wilker shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I really have no idea. A great deal of this is beyond even the theoretical level, Commander."

"Where does all this leave Starbuck and Luana?" Apollo reminded them.

"There's more, Captain." Wilker admitted, punching the keys once again. "Shortly after the Lieutenant and Ensign's disappearance there was a massive surge in the energy wavelons from the Dynamos and the planet. Again, this is going to sound improbable at best," He glanced at Hummer who nodded in agreement. "The rotation of the planet in its orbital path increased substantially. It only lasted a short time, but in that relative period, days instead of centons would have elapsed on the surface. Since then, in comparison, the readings have dissipated until they have become virtually undetectable."  
"Yet they're still interfering with our scanners." Apollo pointed out.

"Wait a minute, are you suggesting that Starbuck and Luana's presence somehow kicked that whole planetary engineering process into high gear?" Dayton asked. The blank stares told him that _gears_ were not exactly common here. "Uh . . . up to a higher level of activity, Doctor Wilker."

"For a brief moment on a geological time scale. It's possible. Again, so much of this is conjecture right now." Wilker replied.

"The thing is," interjected Hummer, "a planet speeding up to this rate of rotation so quickly, then slowing down again, should have ripped the planet apart. That it didn't is quite flatly impossible."

"Yet it happened," said Sheba.

Baker sniffed. "Sounds like a Monty Python movie. Adam and Eve arrive separately by his and hers spaceships in the Garden of Eden."

"Eden?" Adama asked, his eyebrows rising.

"It's the place on Earth where the first man and woman lived after they were created by God," Dayton elaborated.

"According to the Bible," Ryan added, pointedly.

"The Book of Genesis," Dayton nodded. "Part of an ancient text known as 'The Old Testament'."

"Eden was also the name of the largest city on Kobol," Adama added. "The seat of the Lords, in fact."

"Fact?" Ryan asked, eyebrow raised.

"Fact," replied Adama. "I can show you the vid scans from our time on Kobol later."

"Interesting," Dayton nodded.

"So, Dr. Wilker, you're saying that we aren't currently detecting any further radion emissions from the Dynamos?" Apollo asked, getting back to the topic at hand. "Essentially, they're dormant?"

"That's correct. From all the data we currently have, they have shut down."

"Well, one thing we _did_ learn the last time around, is that after they discharge their energy, they are essentially at their most vulnerable. We can blow them to Hades Hole with one shot, Commander," Sheba suggested. "Clear a path, and go in looking for Starbuck and Lu."

"The problem being that they may very well be critical to the ongoing evolution of this planet," Adama replied thoughtfully."And, as I believe Dr. Wilker has indicated, their range seems vastly increased over the last time we encountered them.

"However, they didn't attack until Starbuck and Luana picked them up on their scanners at relatively close range, Father, according to the flight data logs," Apollo returned. Briefly, he pondered using one of the smaller and lighter Wraith ships they had confiscated at the pirate asteroid. It would be more difficult to detect by scanner, however, the downfall was it was still a single-manned craft. Good for reconnaissance, but not much use for a rescue.

"I wonder . . ." Wilker mused. "Did the Dynamos attack?"

"What else would you call it?" Apollo asked.

"A planet genetically engineered and perfectly suitable for Human life, but curiously no Humans are present. Almost as if populating the planet was a final step." Wilker proposed.

"As if the entire planet, indeed the whole project, were some sort of gargantuan computer program?" asked Ryan.

"It is beginning to look like that," replied Wilker.

"I wonder if we should look for Slartibartfast's signature somewhere in Norway," Dayton muttered to Baker. The other man just rolled his eyes, and said nothing.

"And suddenly a man and a woman show up at what could be perceived as just the right time in geological development, assuming the acceleration in evolution for that brief period concluded some kind of preset objective," Adama added.

"Ah, I see. Maybe they weren't attacked, but instead they were recognized as being the primary species Planet 'P' was designed for," Dayton added. "So the computer, or whatever it is that runs the place, decided it was time to start populating the place."

"So what does all that mean?" Baker asked.

"That they could be still be alive," Tigh replied.

"And possibly breeding like bunnies," Dayton grinned.

Abruptly, the entry chime sounded.

"Enter!" Adama called out.

The door slid open to reveal Ensign Lia, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Commander, I'm sorry to interrupt," she looked around at the assembled group as she held a card in her hand that appeared quite formal in nature. "I know this isn't exactly proper procedure, Sir."

"Come in, Ensign," Adama encouraged her.

"This will be quick, Commander. I have a message from Council. She . . . they insisted I bring it to your attention right away," Lia continued, crossing the short space between them.

Adama raised his eyebrows, having a fairly good idea just _who_ had done the insisting in this instance. "Thank you, Ensign Lia." He undid the antique-looking wax seal, and unfolded the card, that resembled an archaic letter of introduction or announcement. Within was a short note in neat, bold script that declared, They're alive. It was signed formally, Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House, Empyrean Necromancer, and Member of the Council of the Twelve. He slowly refolded the note. "I see."

"Sir?" Lia asked.

"That will be all, Ensign," Adama dismissed her, keeping his tone neutral.

She looked disappointed, and glanced for a moment at Apollo before adding, "Yes, sir." Then she turned smartly on her heel and left.

"Father?" Apollo asked, eyes going from the Commander, to the note, and then back to his father.

"A message from Ama, insisting they're alive." Adama replied, his mouth grim.

"How seriously do we take such a message?" Dayton asked. He'd heard rumours from Ryan and Baker about the Necromancer's reputed talents. It was said the woman could see both the future, and into the very hearts and souls of others. Good or evil. And since meeting a real angel named John right there on the _Galactica_, he was willing to believe almost anything. Almost.

"She has a fairly impressive track record," Adama admitted reluctantly as he thought back over the sectars since he had met Ama. Not only had she lifted a curse that had probably saved Starbuck's life, she had also seen to it that a second rescue party was sent to Alrin, somehow knowing that Apollo, Starbuck and Lia were in trouble, as well as insisting that Starbuck wasn't dead when they had assumed him so, mistaking the charred remains of Ensign Szabo for the lieutenant's after being caught by pirates sectars later. Added to that, the woman had an intelligence, warmth, and a personal code of ethics, that made her rise above his usual opinion of self-professed soothsayers and witches. _And_ Bureauticians. Besides, he liked her. "We need a plan to get past those Dynamos. However, keeping in mind that I'm basing this decision on Ama's powers of prediction, I want this to be on a strictly volunteer basis. I want no misunderstanding that this could be a tactical mistake."

"What about using Baltar's Cylons and their fighter?" asked Sheba. "With no life forms to detect, maybe it could slip past the Dynamos."

"I don't think we have the kind of time it would take to get them functioning properly." Boomer inserted. "Stacking a few boxes in the science lab is one thing, but flying a Raider . . ."

"And they could never give medical aid, if needed," Dayton countered. "And if Starbuck or Luana are hurt, they're going to need a med tech. Maybe more than one, along with whatever rescue and survival equipment is deemed necessary. After all, if we're wrong, and those Dynamos do attack, even if we manage to sneak past their defences on the way down, we might have to sit tight a few days."

"It's sneaking past their defences that has me worried," Apollo added. He looked around the room, and as he expected, each warrior was nodding in agreement. Wilker looked less concerned, then again, he likely wouldn't be going.

"Commander Adama," Dayton stepped forward. "I have an idea about how we can reduce the risk that the Dynamos would be able to recognize our rescue shuttle. Perhaps it would give us some more time."

"I'm listening, Commander Dayton." Adama replied with interest.

"We use the _Endeavour_, Sir."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The sun beating down on her face, the combined scent of fresh air and blossoms, the heavenly scenery spread out before her, Luana smiled as she mused that perhaps being marooned on this planet with Starbuck for all time might _not_ be such a bad thing. After all, it would be just him and her, no one else's expectations or opinions would come into it. Her perceived 'role' as a wife and as an Empyrean Princess would be irrelevant.

Actually, the more she looked around, and the more she thought about it, the more staying appealed to her sensibilities. It was so _very _Empyrean of her. Drop an Empyrean on a planet, and it was difficult to persuade her to be cooped up again on a ship. It had been proven at least twice that she knew of when the Thirteenth Tribe journeyed to Earth, once on Empyrean and again on Alrin. Often, it made her wonder if any actual Empyreans had ever finally made it to Earth. Or if any ultimately would.  
Finally, having done a complete sweep of their perimeter, she headed back to Starbuck and his ship. He was busily trying to get something working—communications or emergency beacons, she imagined—but he hadn't spoken two words to her since she had made that offhand comment to him about not trying to reach the _Galactica_ as a priority. In retrospect, she realized now that he had probably been frantic with worry when he had first woken up, and she would have likely done the same thing.  
But Apollo wouldn't have.

_That_ was the crux of the matter. There were reasons that Apollo didn't want them flying together. The same reasons that Sheba stayed in Silver Spar Squadron, and spent less time these days joining her man on missions. And they did make a certain kind of sense, she had to admit. Couples spent too much time watching—and reacting to—each other. Sheba had admitted that she actually lost her sense of perspective when she had disagreed with one of the Strike Captain's orders back on the pirate base. Openly and vocally. She had taken it as a personal affront. It had taken them some time, and some professional distance to get their relationship back on track.

Starbuck, however, had thought that they were immune to that. Lu had figured it had to do with their vast difference in experience. Starbuck would give orders and she would follow them. Generally, she had such immense respect for his skill, ability and knowledge, that it had never been a problem.

Not that he had put either of them in any kind of danger. However, she couldn't help but wonder if the best pilot in the Fleet—and the universe, if Starbuck was telling the tale—would have been able to get out of the Dynamo's trap if he hadn't been following her progress, and therefore breaking his own concentration.

Dang, she would absolutely hate to leave Blue Squadron. The pilots had become a second family to her, the barracks, her new home. Each one had taken her and Lia under their wings, showing them the ropes, and sharing their tricks of the trade. Treating them like little sisters—especially with Starbuck's watchful eye upon them in the early days. She sighed, walking up to Starbuck and peering over his shoulder as he held a probe to a circuit board in the Viper's underbelly.

"Getting anywhere?" she asked casually.

"Nowhere fast," he replied, obviously not at all surprised by her presence. "I'm trying to modify the circuit board in the emergency beacon. I'm thinking I can use a jumper wire to change the circuit path, and thus that of the current, and then try to reroute the charge from my laser's spare charge pack, to try and kick start the whole subsystem."

"The laser? I thought the power cell was totally different?"

"Yeah, for reasons known only to the Mighty and Mystical Madmen of Colonial Military procurement. Which is probably why our lasers are still working, Lu. That shouldn't matter though for what I have in mind."

She nodded thoughtfully, amazed at the training he had received in an Academy setting, "You certainly seem to be quite adept at this."

"Well, sort of."

"Was this part of an Academy exercise?"

"Some of it obviously." He smiled faintly, glancing back at her for a moment. "The rest was part of how I used to hotlink the occasional circuit board as a kid in Caprica City."

"Ah." He didn't often speak of his childhood, and never in great detail, and Luana had the idea there was more of it that he wanted to forget than remember. "It must have been . . . difficult. Losing your family as a child. I couldn't even imagine not knowing or remembering my mother or father."

For a moment he just looked thoughtful, pausing in his actions, before finally replying. "I guess it made me who I am today. I picked up a lot of . . . skills, for lack of a better word, back then."

"I think a lot of those skills were in your genes, Starbuck." Luana smiled, thinking of how similar he was to Chameleon. Many an evening had they spent over the last four sectars, father and son exchanging tales of their pasts and trying to catch up on yahrens long gone. Of course, both men stuck to tales of glory. It was as though they had an unspoken agreement to not discuss anything negative that had come about due to the tearing apart of their small family and the tragic loss of Starbuck's mother. "But it was ironic that you ended up honing them as you did."

He shrugged slightly in response.

"I was thinking," she told him.

He sighed. "I had a feeling this was leading up to something like that."

"I think I should leave Blue Squadron."

"No." It was clipped. He didn't even stop what he was doing.

"This isn't a request to a superior officer, Starbuck." Luana returned, watching his shoulders rise and fall as he took another deep breath, before turning to face her.

"I'll leave Blue," he said. Truthfully, he'd been thinking too. He'd hoped to have the time to talk himself out of this though. "I'll tell Apollo when we get back." He shrugged as if it was nothing.

But she knew differently. "You've been Apollo's wingman since . . . well, I don't know how long, but it seems like forever."

"It probably seems that way to Apollo too," he grinned ruefully, setting down the delicate tools on his emergency kit. "Look, Apollo's been talking about shuffling the squadrons. It'll be good for all of us to shake it up a bit. We're too comfortable flying with the same guys all the time. After all, we haven't seen a Cylon in so long, we're losing our edge."

"I never had one," she smiled. "I still don't think you should leave Blue. You love flying with Apollo. Besides, we need someone who can cover his astrum, and there's nobody better at it than you."

He looked at her pained. "Couldn't you have put that a different way?"

"Think about it, Starbuck. This is one situation where it's incredibly important to know how your wingman flies if you're going to protect him. You two are so instinctual. It's like watching birds in a mating flight."

"Again . . ." he groused at her comparison.

"So litigate me. I hear Sire Solon's free." Her chin tilted upwards ever so slightly.

Starbuck had the good grace to wince as she threw his words back at him. Then he took a step towards her, stroking her cheek lightly. "Actually, he's the Chief Opposer, so he wouldn't take the case. He only handles the big stuff."

"Give it some more thought." Her arms crept around him. "I really think I should be the one to go. I know why you want me in Blue, but the other squadrons would watch my back just as meticulously as Boomer, Dietra, Giles and the others. You're selling them short."

Lords, she knew him too well! "Blue Squadron is the Commander's wing. There's a reason for that, Lu."

"Tell that to Bojay and Sheba, and I'll watch them wipe the deck with you."

He grinned, pulling her against him, and looking into the endless depths of those dark, brown eyes. "I just want you to be safe."

"Much the same as I want for you. And if we examine our medical records, I'm betting you've spent a lot more time in Life Station lately than I have. What with breaking into criminal's quarters, torture sessions by psychopathic henchmen, curved Empyrean daggers. . ."

"Lately? I haven't been there for sectars." He refuted.

"Yeah, well, now that you've taken up hoverhockey, I'm sure it's just a matter of time." She kissed him lightly. "Now, how about you teach me how to change the circuit path with a jumper wire?"

xxxxxxxxxx

It didn't escape Dayton's notice that every Colonial in the office—with the possible exception of Lieutenant Boomer and Technician Hummer—was looking at him like he was wearing a pink tutu and singing Tiptoe Through The Tulips in a 'Tiny Tim-like' falsetto while balancing on a tightrope with a frilly umbrella. With ringlets and ribbons in his hair. "What?"

"The _Endeavour_?" Adama asked, his tone incredulous. As recently as last sectar, he had visited Dayton upon the shuttle where they had discussed history, culture, the Thirteenth Tribe, vegetables, and, of course, the Earth shuttle. Dayton had mentioned that the ship would be fit for touring and that he harboured some hopes that she would be flying to her resting place on the Astrodon Freighter, however, there was at least one blatant problem. She had no engines.

"Yes, Commander." Dayton nodded, thankful that the other hadn't sounded derisive or mocking. "As you know, we've restored many of her systems, mostly by jury rigging and machining parts ourselves. Lieutenant Boomer and Technician Hummer have helped a lot in that regard with bits and pieces salvaged from the pirate base." He nodded to the two men who had invested a huge amount of their own time in Dayton's pet project.

"Commander Dayton," Tigh inserted. "The last I heard, she had no engines."

"Uh, well . . . she does now." Dayton tried to keep his features and tone neutral.

"From where?" Tigh asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he sighed loudly.

"You'd have to ask Starbuck . . ." Baker inserted, pausing as Dayton looked at him warningly. He looked at his friend uncertainly. There was a certain amount that a fellow missed when he was still relying on a languatron to communicate. Truthfully, he did better when he simply tried to keep up with and participate in the conversation, and now found the electronic translator more of a distraction. But this had seemed too important to risk relying on his tenuous grasp of Colonial Standard.

"I . . . see." Adama nodded, letting out a deep breath. _Thank the Lords that Starbuck is on our side. _ He looked to Boomer and Apollo. If the lieutenant had somehow managed to scavenge engines for the Earth shuttle, there was no way in the universe he wouldn't have shared that particular story of glory with his friends. "Well?"

Apollo winced slightly, avoiding his father's eye. "I . . . uh . . . told him I didn't want to know."

Adama's brows went up, until they nearly disappeared under his hairline.

"Boomer?" Tigh asked, frowning at the resulting snicker from Sheba.

"Well, that old ship of Croad's was finally scrapped." Though the parts were impossible to replace and she was slow and handled like an archaic landram, the Proteus Enforcer had been reluctant to give up his craft. However, once they had introduced him to a Viper, he had finally come around to their way of thinking. "Starbuck figured we'd be able to adapt her engines and a lot of her other parts for use on the _Endeavour_."

"And he was right." Baker inserted. "It would have been a nightmare to get the Earth technology to work together with anything as sophisticated as what you're using now. Most of your connectors won't fit, and a lot of the electrical values are _way_ off. Believe me, we thought about it."

"Having said that, we were able to install a 'new' scanning system from the shuttle that was salvaged from Arcta," Hummer added proudly.

"The shuttle that crashed there?" asked Adama, wondering what else was going on aboard his ship that he didn't know about.

"Yes, it was retrieved as I recall."

"Along with Cadet Cree's Viper, sir," said Hummer. "The Viper was repaired, but the shuttle suffered a badly cracked frame on impact, as well as major structural damage from the hit she took from a Cylon fighter. She could never fly again, but with resources at a premium, we brought her back for parts. We've been mining it for parts ever since to keep the other shuttles going, as well as using it to train maintenance technicians."

"And you used components from that shuttle to restore the _Endeavour_?" asked Colonel Tigh, looking from Hummer to Boomer.

"We did, sir," said Boomer. "Along with pieces from Croad's fighter, as we said, and the old freighter from Proteus as well. All in all, the Earth shuttle is beginning to look pretty good."

"But if the electrical power system is so dissimilar," asked Adama, "how will you get her operational? Won't the components just blow out?"

"We've reconfigured most of that, Commander," replied the lieutenant. "I'm just concerned about how the Dynamos will react to the Earth shuttle, once it's within their scanning range."

"That shouldn't be a problem, Boomer. The basic systems are all revamped, and even the navigational system is from Croad's fighter," Dayton added, looking back at Adama. "My thinking is that this Dynamo technology is so advanced, that it might not recognize the

_Endeavour_ as being a potential threat."

"It might not recognize the _Endeavour_ at all," Hummer added with a chuckle. "Might think it's just space junk." He shrugged as Dayton bristled. "No offence, Commander. We'll just kill the Colonial scanner until after we get through the planet's atmosphere to improve our chances."

"Won't that leave you blind at a critical moment?" asked Tigh.

"No. We had room, so we installed the scanner from Croad's fighter as a back-up system. The scanner from the old fighter is the old two-tiered set-up, sir. The active scan system can be shut down, but the passive scan mode remains on, unlike the scanner array in the more modern Vipers. You'll be sending out no energies for the Dynamos to detect."

"Sounds good," said Baker.

Wilker rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That could work."

"One more thing," Adama added. It was really more of a formality because he already knew what the answer would be. "Who's going to fly her?"

"She's my ship, Commander Adama. And Lieutenant Colonel Baker is her pilot. We'll fly her." Dayton replied steadily.

"Just like riding a bicycle, eh, Mark?" Ryan added.

"Something like that, Paddy." He turned back to Adama. "Besides, given all we've done to her, I couldn't ethically ask anyone else to take the risk."

"Commander, when was the last time you . . . either of you, flew anything?" Adama asked quietly.

"Well, I admit we haven't logged any hours recently, but Starbuck introduced us both to your simulators a few months. . .uh, sectars, back. I've made it to the third module and I believe Bob," he nodded towards Baker, "is about to crack the fourth. And while I admit, my reflexes aren't quite what they were when I was in my twenties, as long as we have someone on the flight deck that can operate the Colonial components, I think we'll do just fine. I wouldn't risk my ship, or the lives of anyone else aboard, if I believed otherwise. I think you know me well enough to realize that. Besides, I . . . we all owe Starbuck." Not only had he saved their lives, but each of the crazy schemes—Earth gambling, IFB participation, marketing—that he had pitched to them in their first week on the battlestar had paid off in spades. They were financially independent men as a result of his vision, and no longer felt as if they were under the thumb of their new hosts. Ama had told a similar story with Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists. Starbuck had a real talent for making other people wealthy. His business acumen and insight as to the deficiencies in the Fleet were wasted as a Colonial Warrior.

"Commander, Starbuck was impressed with both of their piloting abilities," Apollo added. Starbuck had lost one too many hands of poker with the Earthmen. The bet: sneaking them into the simulators and teaching them how to fly a shuttle. Of course, being Starbuck, a couple sectons later he had lost another game and another bet, and this time, he had become their personal flight instructor for the Viper sims as well. Apollo had turned a blind eye, curious when Starbuck pitched the idea of refitting one of the old replaced flight sims and adapting it to simulate an Earth fighter, circa Dayton and company. He wasn't sure what an F-15 Eagle was, but he was damn interested in finding out.

"How many crew members will the _Endeavour_ carry?" Adama asked.

"A crew of seven the way she's configured currently. Assuming Starbuck and Luana might be injured, we could reconfigure the middeck for additional seating and remove the sleeping provisions and modular storage." Dayton looked to Boomer.

"Take that up with Jenny." Boomer suggested, referring to the Chief Warrant Officer that had been in charge of the _Galactica_'s hangar crew for so long, that she was practically a fixture. "I'll bet she could handle it ASAP."

Adama looked to his son. "Apollo?"

"It sounds like the best chance we have." The captain agreed.

"The team?"

"Me, Boomer, Dayton, Baker, a med tech." The captain could feel Sheba's eyes upon him, but they had an agreement now. No more missions together unless it was strategically necessary. "Then we shouldn't have to make any modifications at all."  
They also wouldn't be risking any further personnel if it turned out that they were wrong. Adama nodded. "Alright. I want a full diagnostic done on the _Endeavour_ before she launches. When will she be ready to actually fly?"

"Well, at the rate we were going, we figured another one of your sectons," said Baker. "But since this is a rush, we'll get it done before the day is out. After all, it's been a hobby up until now. Give us the men, the time, and resources, and that changes everything."

"Good. And I want to see the diagnostics before you are cleared for launch."  
"It'll be done, Commander." Dayton told him. "She'll be shipshape and ready for duty, sir, if I have to drag her down the tarmac myself and use rubber bands to launch her."

Adama looked at him a moment, then scowled slightly at Wilker. He doubted that 'contraceptive orchestras' was really what Dayton had meant.

"Viper escort, Commander?" Sheba asked. "At least as far as the planet's orbit? After all, so much of this is conjecture, and the _Endeavour_ will be defenceless."

Adama nodded at young officer approvingly. "Two Vipers should do it."

"Bojay and I are scheduled for patrol in four centars." Sheba inserted. "We'll do it."

"Very well." Adama nodded, then looked at them all. "I shall expect a progress report in one centar. Dismissed."  
Adama lightly touched Dayton's arm as the others filed out of the office. "By the way, Commander Dayton, the Council had unanimously agreed to offer you the position of Earth Liaison Officer. As president of the Council, I hope you will agree to accept the position."

"What exactly will it entail?" Dayton asked, anxious to get back to his ship, rather than talk politics. Besides, there was one other stop he had to make before they launched.

"You will be welcome in Council meetings and can participate in debate and discussion, representing the interests of Earthmen, but you won't have the privilege of voting." Adama noted that the other didn't seem surprised by that. It made him wonder, not for the first time, how long ago Ama had conceived of this agenda, assuming it had been Ama. The two had certainly been on friendly terms since Starbuck had brought them all together four sectars ago. Then again, there was a touch of the lieutenant in the plan as well, he mused. "There will be a stipendiary compensation, of course."

"Thank you, Commander." Dayton replied without hesitation, gripping the other's hand. "I accept."

"I'll release it to the IFB. Now, good luck, Commander. Bring them home safely."

xxxxxxxxxx

Apollo was quiet and thoughtful as Sheba walked alongside him down the corridor. She had been waiting for him to comment on her volunteering for Viper escort of the _Endeavour_, but so far he hadn't said a word. Any word.

"Quantum for your thoughts."

He shook his head slightly. "It should have been _me_ out there with Starbuck, Sheba." He paused in motion, dropping his gaze to the deck as she stopped and waited him out. It was always difficult to accept the ugly reality when one of his pilots went missing. It was even worse when they went missing on a mission that he should have been heading up. And when they were friends, it was hardest of all to bear. Distant memories of Starbuck launching ahead of him and Serina, and insisting on entering the seemingly endless void on deep probe in his stead, came to mind. Consider it a wedding present. "I can't help but wonder if it would have made a difference."

"They're both good pilots, Apollo. Starbuck's one of our best."

Apollo nodded, standing aside for someone to pass. Starbuck had evidently seen the Dynamos as soon as they showed on his scanners, yet their increased range had made it impossible to escape them. All the same, it should be _him_ down there on that planet with his wingman. And if he hadn't been in Life Station with a broken arm, it would have been.

_Damn! Damn fate!_

"Hey, don't go beating yourself up. Besides, this way you finally get a chance to ride in that 'old-fashioned sub-light rocket' that Starbuck talked about," Sheba told him, leaning against him, her arms creeping around his waist.

Apollo smiled slightly, reminded of the time he had first taken Sheba, Starbuck and Cassiopeia up to the Celestial Dome, the day they had intercepted their first transmission from Earth. He pulled her to him. "I have to admit, that very thought did occur to me."

"Good. Because just about every warrior on the _Galactica _would love to be going in your place. It's like having a chance to step back in history . . . aside from the purpose of the mission, that is."

He sniffed at the excitement dancing in her brown eyes. There was a time when he might have chosen her over Boomer for this mission as a senior officer. However, their decision to work less together had taken a lot of stress off a relationship where decisions made while on the job, often came back to nip him in the astrum in his centars off.

"It looks like someone needs to talk to you," Sheba inserted, seeing Ensign Lia waiting just down the corridor. She tried to control her smirk, as a look of sudden pain momentarily crossed Apollo's features before he carefully composed himself. He had mentioned that the times seemed to be long gone where he could issue an order, and just have everyone jump to it. Instead, there always seemed _someone_ at hand to question his authority, possibly because he was always approachable, reasonable and willing to listen. Sheba knew that herself, Starbuck and Lia topped that list. In fact, with Starbuck, it seemed an integral part of his DNA. "I need to find Bojay and update him on our orders. I'll see you in the launch bay."

"Right," Apollo nodded, giving Sheba a kiss before focussing on the Ensign.

"Captain," Lia nodded at him, taking Sheba's departure as her cue to join him.

"Ensign Lia," replied Apollo.

"Sir, I was just wondering if I could join the . . ." She trailed off as she watched him slowly shake his head from side to side. "Mission."

"We can only take five men, Lia." He watched her eyebrows shoot up at the use of the word 'men'. "Otherwise, we'd have to reconfigure the seating arrangement of the _Endeavour_. It doesn't have the capacity of one of our shuttles, I'm afraid."

"Who . . .?"

"Myself, Lieutenant Boomer, Med Tech Tone, Commander Dayton and Lieutenant Colonel Baker. She's _their _ship, and they're the best pilots for the job."

"Apollo, she's my sister!" Lia reminded him. It was reminiscent of a similar situation when Sheba and Lu had gone missing. Except that time he had agreed that she could come along.

"I realize that, _Lia_, but the team's set. It's not just a matter of one more Viper coming along. The reason we're taking the Earth shuttle is in hopes that the Dynamos' scanner array will be unable to read her because she's so archaic."

"Then take _me_ instead of Boomer." She shrugged. It was the obvious solution. "You might need a tracker down there, from what I've heard of the planet." Sure, she had stopped by the Bridge and had obtained all the information she could on where her sister and future brother-in-law had disappeared. It was rugged and wild terrain. They would be dealing with wildlife as well as unfamiliar territory. She would be an asset to the team after being raised on Empyrean in a similar environment.

"Boomer's spent endless centars helping to rebuild that ship, Lia. If we have any technical problems, I want someone aboard who knows what they're doing." If there had been one more seat, he would have given it to Hummer. But somehow he knew that saying it aloud, wouldn't make Lia feel any better. "That's why I'm bringing him."

"Then let me fly escort."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he noticed the stubborn tilt to her chin, the hands on her slender hips, the gaze that she locked on him as though he was a target in her sites. "Don't you ever give up?"

"Never." She shook her head and added solemnly, "Not on my family, or my friends."

"Ensign . . ."

"Captain Apol . . ."

"This is _not_ a reflection on your ability, Ensign. But when it's a loved-one, your judgement can become less than razor-sharp. There can be hesitation at a critical moment."

Lia bristled . "I didn't hesitate on Alrin."

"No, Ensign," he said with finality.

She pressed on. "You know what I think, Apollo? I think you're taking your personal decisions and imposing them on the rest of us. Just because you and Sheba argued a few times on duty . . ."

"You're out of line, Ensign." Apollo replied stiffly. In reality, the awkwardness of working with his lover went right back to Serina. She had even threatened to lock him out of her chambers once over the comm while on patrol. He could just imagine how that went over on the Bridge. It probably would have become a bigger issue, and something he would have had to resolve, if fate hadn't dealt a lethal blow in the form of a Cylon pulse rifle blast on Kobol. Yeah, it could be he was losing his sense of humour on that front about now.

"Colonial Military for 'you nailed it, Ensign'." Lia took a step closer to him. "I've never been a detriment to a mission, and I resent you assuming that I would be now, based on your experiences with Sheba."

Oh, that rankled, but he managed to maintain his composure and keep his voice tightly controlled. "This has more to do with other people being more suitable and qualified than . . ."

"You just keep telling yourself that, Captain." Lia replied bitterly. "I told you once before that if something happened to your sister, you'd be out there trying to find her despite your own emotions running amok. I don't see the difference."

"The difference is, I'm in command and I have over a deca-yahren of experience." Apollo returned. He'd always been able to reason with her before.

"Really?" Lia drawled, knowing she was crossing the line, but as Starbuck said, sometimes you just had to hit the turbos and say, "what the frack". After all, it wasn't as if they could bust her back to a cadet. "Well, Sheba has almost as much experience. Funny how she's unable to rein in her emotions as effectively as yourself. Must be that Adama bloodline, or some kind of special training." Everything in her bearing contradicted her statement, from her raised eyebrows to the tone of her voice.

It was a side of Lia he hadn't really seen before. She had developed an edge since joining the Fleet. He wasn't sure what had happened to that innocent, forthright, determined . . . Then it hit him. She was standing before him right now telling him he was full of felgercarb as far as she was concerned. Yet, he had recently set a standard, reviving old rules and regulations that had been put in place hundreds of yahrens ago for good reason. If he was going to stick with it himself, then the rest of them had to as well. There couldn't be two sets of rules, based on each individual case that came up. He sighed, not particularly liking the reasoning, and knowing that he was rationalizing his decision.

"My decision stands, Lia. I'll talk to Athena on the bridge. You can listen to the telemetry." He turned to go.

"But . . ."

He turned back to her in disbelief, raising his hands in frustration bordering on anger. "What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

She paused as she studied him briefly. She'd pushed him as far as he could go. It was time to retreat and add a little humour. "That part between the 'n' and the 'o'." Then she smiled slightly. "I had to try." And for good measure. "Sir."

Direct from the Book of Starbuck, he recognized it only too well and was not amused. After all, no one could deliver it like the master, and it lacked the sincerity when duplicated. "When I return from the mission, report to the duty office, Ensign. I think you and I need to go over a few pages of the manual that your instructor neglected to mention. The ones regarding following a commanding officer's orders."

She straightened her back and drew herself up. This time there was nothing but military correctness in her demeanour. "Yes, sir."

xxxxxxxxxx

Blue eyes, blonde hair, and a beauty that was only surpassed by her warmth, sense of humour and intellect, Dayton couldn't help but make time in his busy schedule to bring Cassiopeia up to speed on the mission . . . classified or not. After all, no one in the Colonial military had actually thought to sign him up.

"I'm almost surprised I wasn't assigned." Cassiopeia smiled ruefully. It was difficult to not cross paths with Starbuck and Luana on the battlestar. While some of the bitterness over their sudden and almost predictable tryst had faded, she still wasn't prepared to socialize with them, which was difficult considering Mark Dayton had certainly become fast friends with her former lover, something which had surprised her no little bit. However, the Earthman was a sensitive and intuitive individual, and it really hadn't been an issue.

"I understand that Med Tech Tone was assigned," Dayton told her. It wasn't the first time that holding Cassiopeia in his arms filled Dayton with a sense of guilt as thoughts of his wife, Yvonne, another blue-eyed blonde, came back to him.  
She nodded, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him. "I know you've been practicing in the simulators, but are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I'm sure I'm ready for this," Dayton replied with an exaggerated leer, pulling her closer. "I'm just not sure we have time." She giggled, tucking her head into his chest before looking back up at him. Lord, she took his breath away.

"I meant the mission."

"I might be old, but I'm not ready to be put out to pasture quite yet."

Cassiopeia smiled in amusement, but there was an element of seriousness to her question that he couldn't miss. They had discussed this. She had had enough of Colonial Warriors willing to risk life and limb, and sacrifice all in the name of duty. He had promised her that those days were over for him. "I thought you were focussing your efforts on participating on Council, not being back on active duty, Mark."

"Ah!" Dayton smiled, shaking his head in bemusement. "Speaking of which, I was offered a position as Earth Liaison Officer. I don't get to vote, but I can influence Council with my sparkling personality and powers of persuasion."

"Then you should have them eating out of your hand in no time," Cassiopeia returned lightly. "You accepted?"

"I did." He kissed her tenderly, not missing the slight reluctance on her part. "You're not pleased?"

"No, it's not that," Cassiopeia denied, then stepped back from him, turning towards the viewport in her quarters.

"Then what?"

"I'm not sure how to put it." She murmured.

"Just say it. That usually works."

"I don't know enough about your . . . your people's attitudes. Your values and mores."

"What is it?" he asked, taking her gently by the shoulders, then turning her so as to look her directly in the eyes. "How do you mean 'mores'?"

She looked up at him, seeing the concern and curiosity in his eyes. She had thought she had left this all behind her and that she would no longer wonder how a man would react to her previous profession of choice. Yet, here she was once again, prepared to defend herself before she had even spoken the words aloud. And it was really best that he hear it from her. Might as well get it over with. "Before I was a med tech, before the Holocaust, I used to be a Socialator."

"A what?" he asked, still trying to absorb all the new terms the Colonials were throwing at him. The way things were going, he'd finally get them all straight about the time they reached Earth.

"It's . . ." she pulled away from him trying to find simple enough words to explain the designation to a man who might not even have an equivalent position back on Earth. "I belonged to a professional order that practiced Socialation." She watched as he shook his head in confusion. "It's a millennia old tradition practiced with the blessings of the Elders. I had yahrens of training in social behaviour, counselling, interpersonal relationships, human sexual physiology and behaviour, sensuality, communication skills, relaxation techniques . . ."

"A professional order?" he repeated, not quite being able to resign himself to the idea of a professional anything studying sensuality and sexual behaviour.

"Yes."

Maybe he misunderstood what she was getting at. She probably meant she was a social worker. That he could see. She was so good with people. But then, where would his values and mores come into it? "You were paid to . . .do what exactly?"

"Entertain men," she replied candidly, seeing the sudden realization in his eyes as they widened for an instant.

"A Social . . .I see," he said as he looked first down at the floor, then out the viewport at the stars passing by. Why the Hades Hole had Starbuck not mentioned this to him? He took a deep breath, abruptly wondering how Yvonne would feel about him taking up with a reformed prostitute. Even one who was on her way to becoming a physician. "Why tell me this now?"

"As I said. I know virtually nothing of your people's mores and standards," she said from behind him, making no effort to touch him. She honestly couldn't read his reaction, other than his understandable surprise. On the other hand, she hadn't seen him this emotionally restrained, his feelings tightly in check, since his man Dickins had been in Life Station fighting for his life. "Among the Colonists, we have a sect that looks upon any intimate contact between men and women outside of very narrow bounds as immoral or unnatural."

"Yeah." He replied quietly, wondering where she was leading him now. It was one roller coaster of a discussion, and he felt a bit like he was on a gut wrenching drop from the very top of the V2 Vertical Velocity at Six Flags, about to begin the 185 foot drop. Get a grip, Dayton. Listen to what she's trying to tell you, and stop envisioning the Happy Hooker in Outer Space. "I . . .uh, heard about those folks. The . . . Atari, I think they're called."

"Otori." She corrected him, for a moment flashing back to that time aboard the _Gemini __Freighter__, _where a member of the sect had openly suggested they 'feed her to the daggits' when she had spoken out to help a fellow passenger who was ill. If Apollo and Starbuck hadn't removed her when they did. . . "They believe any contact, if not blessed by the Sun Priest, is grossly immoral. And the ritual comes only once every seven yahrens."

He blew out a short breath. "Sounds like a bunch of Vulcans," muttered Dayton, turning to face her. Cassiopeia frowned, but he went on. "And you wanted to find out how I might react to the idea that you've had sexual relations with a lot of other men. Not just Starbuck, but . . ." He swallowed, unable to quite get his mind around the fact that this beautiful, intelligent woman would debase herself to that level.

"More than that. While people like the Otori are extremists, there are still many who look derisively upon a woman who would give herself to men for cubits." She laid it on the line. No pretty words, no patented Socialator explanation. Just the way that many men would perceive her. The men of position and influence who would be delighted to clandestinely employ her, but would then pretend not to recognize her if they met again socially. And they did often.

"Why bother to even bring it up?" he asked woodenly, almost wishing she hadn't. "I mean, we . . ."

"If you're joining the Council, it could become an issue, Mark. I just want you to understand that. You know that I care about you, but before we go any further in this relationship, you need to think about this. I need to know that my past is not going to come between us, or that you're concerned it will affect your bureaucratic career."

He paused in thought as he considered her words. She didn't have a problem with her past. She just thought that he might. He had the distinct idea that as far as she was concerned, if his appointment to Council hadn't occurred, they probably wouldn't be having this conversation. It spoke of her security within her life's choices, as well as her obvious consideration of him. "Are you ashamed of what you were, Cassiopeia?" His question was gentle, not at all sharp or accusatory. He simply wanted to know.  
"Ashamed?" She smiled at the very thought. "No. As I said, it was a traditional art. Thousands of young women on Gemon, and from other planets and colonies, vied for a chance to be admitted to the Sanctorium. I was proud to be among them. I felt as if I brought some measure of joy, of happiness, to those who needed it. Everyone should feel valued, after all."

"Are you religious at all, Cassiopeia?"

"I . . . well, I was raised to believe in _The Book Of The Word, __and studied many theologies in my Socialation training, _but have never considered myself devout. Why?"

"I was thinking of a woman from my own planet. A woman who lived a long time ago. Her name was Mary Magdalene."

"Oh?" asked Cassiopeia. Mark Dayton never talked just to hear the sound of his own voice, at least not with her.

"She was a woman famous for her . . .profession. Not unlike your own former life, but with a lot less training, I'm willing to bet. She was also said to be possessed by seven demons." He could see the slight narrowing of her eyes at that. Yeah, possibly he could have held back that bit of information. His own attention to detail was sometimes misplaced. "When she at last came to the One that some of us believe to be Divinity Incarnate, she was not only healed, but forgiven. An amended life, its course radically changed. My point is, if _she_ could change, and go forward, so could anyone. Including you." He paused for a moment, then added quietly, "Or me."

Abruptly, he realized, that if that story could apply to her, in a way it could apply to him as well. And it shouldn't necessarily take divine intervention to put one on the right path, though in retrospect, the angel 'John' had happened along at just the right time for him, when Ryan's words had failed to make an impact. Dayton thought about the years of imprisonment that had changed him, turning him into a man who spent too many hours dreaming of the ways he could avenge himself against his tormentors, making them feel every ounce of the fear and self-loathing that he had experienced. He had become more animal than Human, falling back on his instinctual drive to survive. When Adama had first explained their intent to find Earth, despite Dayton's voiced concerns of the Cylon Empire destroying yet another planet—his home planet—the Earthman had taken it upon himself to be judge, jury and executioner for the Colonial Fleet, intending to let the imminent explosion of the asteroid base and Dynamos wipe out the mighty Battlestar that protected them. Yeah, on the scale of immorality, he was a relative monster compared to Cassiopeia.

He sniffed as he tried to remember where he had left off in his egotistical and condescending attempt to 'forgive her sins'. She was waiting patiently, unaware his train of thought had radically changed his perception of the situation. "I guess what I'm trying to say, Cassiopeia—and probably not very coherently—is that what you _used_ to be doesn't matter to me. Not at this point in my life. I guess thirty years in that hellhole teaches a guy what's important and what isn't. I care about you for the person that you are, not your chosen profession or what you did in the past. Besides," he shrugged, attempting to lighten his dour and reflective mood, "I'm not exactly a saint myself, you know."

"Really?" she smiled. She didn't really have a difficult time believing that, especially with some of the stories that Ryan had told her.

"Oh, yes." He smiled at the way she looked up at him expectantly, as though this would be worth hearing. "There was a time when I was known as 'lock-up-your-daughters-Dayton'." Really, it seemed so trite considering what had been running through his head. He changed tack again. "Seriously, I've done a lot that I'm not particularly proud of. Most of it would horrify you." To her credit she simply nodded. She had been there more than once when he had awakened from the nightmares that had dragged him back to relive the terrors of his lifetime. "So, I am hardly one to sit in judgment of how someone else has lived. And besides, if we have anything, you and I, then the past is just that."

"I'm glad you see it that way, Mark," she replied simply, putting her arms around him once more. "And this mission?"

"My one and only, I hope to God. Frankly, I don't see them needing the _Endeavour_ more than this once. My last hurrah, as it were." He pulled her close.

She sniffed and held close to him, wondering if it was true. Cain, Starbuck, and now Mark Dayton. The truth was she was attracted to a certain kind of man. A man of action who would always be willing to jump into the fray when called upon. "Come home safe," she whispered, not for the first time wondering if her man would come home at all.

xxxxxxxxxx

Adama stood aside, crisply formal, as the two women entered his office. He sighed, preferring to be on the Bridge at this point, but his respect and fellowship with both of these Council members dictated that he take the time to reassure them—at least as far as Tinia was concerned. Ama had her own contacts, as she often put it, and was as unflappable as ever. He followed them through the door.

"You're sending a rescue party," Ama stated, as flatly as if she had announced to one and all that his uniform was blue. Not a question. Nor a demand. Just a statement.

"We are," he nodded. "Apollo is getting the ship prepared now."

Tinia nodded, her features tense. She had liaised with the Empyreans for so long, that she had taken a personal interest in the people. And while Starbuck and her hadn't always seen eye to eye across Adama's dinner table, his betrothal to an Empyrean princess had gone a long way towards easing the integration of the Empyreans into the Fleet, as well as boosting morale Fleet-wide. Between them, Tinia and Ama had elevated the two warriors to icon status, and the Fleet had certainly needed heroes and idols to look up to on a journey that at times seemed both endless and uncertain. "Adama, is there any word? Any sign at all that Luana and Starbuck have survived?"

He reached out, gently squeezing the upturned hands as she beseeched him for reassurances that he couldn't, in all good conscience, offer. "We've had no contact with them at all since the distress call."

"Emergency beacons?" Ama asked, a little more familiar with operations having two goddaughters and an honorary son who were pilots. "Life signs?"

"Nothing. There are radion emissions from the surface that are interfering with our scanners." Adama shook his head. "Yet, I understand you . . . sense they are still alive, Ama?"

"There's no doubt in my mind, Adama," she returned, smiling mysteriously. "I can feel their life forces. They still walk within this dimension, Adama. I sense them as truly and as fully as I sense you. And, fortunately, my spiritual connection with my kin cannot be interrupted by mere radion emissions."

"One day I will sit down and ask you to explain that to me over a glass of ambrosa," Adama returned, shaking his head, and wondering about the source of the woman's . . . powers, talents, skills, gifts—he was even unsure how to refer to them. Were it not for the proof that he had repeatedly seen that defied all logic, he would have sworn long ago that Ama was completely addled.

"I'm not sure that I could," Ama replied, with the hint of a smile. "There are some things that transcend logic, after all. One must take comfort in that."

"Most do not, Ama," Tinia pointed out. "I for one, seek answers that can be supported by logic."

"What of you, Adama?" Ama asked, with a curious smile.

Abruptly, and for no apparent reason, a memory of the tomb of the ninth Lord of Kobol came back to him. Adama, Apollo, Serina and Baltar, they had all been trapped when the Cylons had unexpectedly attacked. Baltar, who was sure he had offended the sensibilities of the Lords when he opened the sacred sarcophagus, had demanded, "Adama, the Lords are with you, use your power, get us out of here!"

_His power._

He had thought about it long afterward, when he had had a quiet moment to reflect on it all. Baltar had assumed that through the use of his 'mystical powers', the Commander could free them from megatons of falling stone that had secured their apparent fate. As if he could grip his medallion, mutter some incantation, and save the day. It almost seemed silly in that light. Yet, now it reminded him of . . . Ama.

Her powers were indefinable, defying the paradigms of a materialistic universe, yet tangible, and were perhaps embodied in her character. An inner strength and resolve, fierce faith and determination, along with an innate sense of knowing right from wrong, she was a force of nature. Qualities that Adama not only respected, but recognized within himself. Yet his own 'powers' were balanced by his bureaucratic and military responsibilities. His own need to explain the inexplicable often surpassed his desire to simply accept that in the universe that was beyond his understanding. He smiled slightly as he considered the Empyrean woman.

"Ama, as a military man, I seek explanations. Such things are a cornerstone of my profession. Yet when I cannot find answers, or furthermore, bring myself to realize that perhaps I was not meant to understand, I can find solace . . . and perhaps even hope and reverence, in the knowledge that there is a power greater than all of us out there." He waved a hand towards the viewport.

Ama nodded, placing her hand over her heart. "And in here, Adama. Most importantly, in here."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Yes!" Luana cheered as she watched the emergency beacon indicator go on in Starbuck's cockpit. As blinking little lights went, it was the most beautiful one she had ever seen. "Yeehaw! It's functioning!"

"Well, what did you expect?" Starbuck called up to her, a little relieved that his creative reconfiguration had actually worked. He watched as she climbed out of the cockpit, slipping to the ground with the grace of a wild felix. "I mean . . .hey. This is me we're talking about here."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." She grinned at the bravado. "It's a good thing you were here to remind me. Now what do we do?" Luana asked, brushing aside stalks of foliage to join him.

"Well, we wait and see if they're going to rescue us." Unfortunately, he had his doubts about it this time around. It was similar to the circumstances inside the pirate asteroid. The risks of a rescue might outweigh the benefit. He just wasn't sure that Lu was prepared to hear that just yet. You're doing it again, Bucko. Treating her differently because she's your betrothed. "In the meantime, I'm going to work on establishing some kind of communications with the _Galactica_."

"Starbuck, when we were attacked, did you pick up the energy wavelons coming off the planet?" she asked.

"Yeah." He nodded briefly. "I've been thinking about that. It doesn't exactly fill me with comforting thoughts."

"What do you think it was? Some sort of defence system possibly? Maybe left on automatic?"

He slowly turned the other way, looking over the vast field of yellow foliage with clumps of purple flowers, to the lake beyond, wishing he knew where they were in relation to where he had seen the energy surge. "Some kind of command centre for the defensive network?" He frowned and shook his head. "I don't know, Lu. We didn't have any trace of sentient life signs or indications of civilisation on the surface before we were attacked, and suddenly my scanners were sparking up like it was the Caprican Summer Solstice Festival. There has to be some kind of explanation for that, but we just don't have enough data."

"What about our scan logs?"

"Can't get mine to come up," he said. "No power to any of those systems, and I'm afraid even if we did have, the energy pulse would have wiped them clean."

She thought about it a moment. "You're . . . wondering if it's the Cylons?" Luana could tell by his silence that he was seriously considering it. "But what would they be doing this far out and ahead of us?"

He turned back towards her. "I don't think it's Cylon. If the Cylons controlled the Dynamos and this planet, we'd either be captured or dead right now, not sitting here in a field of flowers. This just doesn't feel like their style." He sighed. "But you can't rule out the possibility that they could have manoeuvred ahead of us. They don't have a Fleet of civilian ships to slow them down, remember." He thought back to the Base Ship he and Apollo had penetrated sectars ago. That one had moved ahead of them, and manoeuvred into a waiting position. If they could do it once . . .

"If not the Cylons, then who?"

"Whoever designed those Dynamos to begin with. I don't know how in Hades Hole twelve of the spheroids ended up at that pirate base, but that technology was obviously in their hands for a long time. Probably generations, when you consider everything else we saw there. Someone _must_ have shown them how it worked, at least for their own purposes." Starbuck mused aloud. Oddly, he and Bex had never had the opportunity to sit down over a glass of asteroid whiskey and chat about how that despicable settlement of loathsome Humans had come about. Even Dayton wasn't sure, and he'd spent thirty yahrens in that pit.

"Go on," Luana encouraged him.

"I don't really understand it. I don't know what all this. . ." he held up his hands to the sky, "is for. Some kind of command centre on the planet and the Dynamos in position to protect it from above. Then when it does pick us off, it seems to just . . . relocate us onto the surface and disable our ships. Why? What's the overall plan here?"

"Well, who or whatever is behind all this obviously wants us alive. Given their technology, they could just as easily snuffed us out as anything else."

"I agree," he nodded, after a moment. "But the _why _of it is what bothers me. Reminds me . . ." He looked around the bucolic valley, with it intoxicating beauty. "Reminds me of Carillon somehow. Beauty that hides something." He shuddered, recalling just how close Cassie had come to being fodder for one of the hideous Ovion larvae. What lurked here?

"It's unnerving, Starbuck. Would it even make sense for the _Galactica_ to send a rescue team? They must have received the telemetry you sent them; therefore, they'll know what a force the Dynamo Network is. A rescue party could potentially end up down here beside us, or worse."

"I know." He sniffed. She was a clever girl. She'd figured it out all by herself.

"You . . ." She grabbed his hand, preventing him from turning away from her again as the chilling reality set in. "You don't think they'll come . . . do you?"

"Not if they can't figure out a way past the Dynamos. It's different than the last time we encountered them, Lu. This new network is an unknown adversary with a significant amount more power and range."

"Where does that leave _us_?" Her voice was tense.

"Look, the _Galactica _has the advantage of her scanners. We don't know what's happening up there. We're essentially blind. We can't assume the same applies to them right now."

"So there's hope?" she asked, feeling his hand slip around her and pull her to him.

"There's always hope, Lu." He smiled gently at her, tipping up her chin. "That's what we live for around these parts. Besides, it might not be so bad being here, just you and I."

She smiled fleetingly, her earlier thoughts of her and Starbuck staying behind on the planet, and avoiding all the bovine mong about the sealing details, seeming less attractive now that it might actually come true. Be careful what you wish for. . . Surely there could be some happy medium instead? Her and Starbuck together in the Fleet, but without all the complications of the impending sealing ceremony hanging over them. If anybody would understand, it would be Starbuck. She was being silly. She should just talk to him about it. He probably felt the same way, after all. "I was thinking about that earlier. You and I marooned here."

"You were?" he asked, as she looked down at his chest, avoiding his gaze. _Never_ a good sign with Luana.

"I . . . was thinking that . . . sometimes with all the sealing plans, and all the fussing that Ama does . . . her expectations . . . yours . . ." She sighed before returning her gaze to him.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head in bemusement. Where was she going with this?

"That it might be nice to avoid all that." She looked at him searchingly, awaiting his response. Any centon now he would laugh and tell her he felt the same way.

It seemed for a moment that he had stopped breathing as he stared in incredulity at the quirky little smile on her face. His heart was obviously still beating though, because it had irritatingly risen to his throat and the sound was echoing in his ears. Then he blurted out, "You don't want to get sealed?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Adama glanced over the final diagnostic report for the Earth shuttle, inputting his command code and giving final approval for her conscription and utilization. She was now, _officially_, part of the Colonial Fleet. He smiled wryly, shaking his head. Something his mother had once said about 'scraping the bottom of the barrel' came fleetingly to mind. Surprisingly, it hadn't taken that long to prepare the ship for readiness, which bespoke of the quality of the work that Dayton and his band of scavengers and hobbyists had put into their personal project, not to mention the engineers and technicians who had originally designed and built her, on that planet so far away. All the same, his feelings were mixed because it hadn't escaped his notice that he was sending two civilians into active duty who were not that far off his own age in relative Earth yahrens, considering their shorter life span. Ah yes, in a shuttle that the Lords of Kobol would have scorned, had they survived laughing themselves nearly to death over it. He sighed, as he wracked his brain one more time for a more viable option. There simply wasn't one that he could live with.

While finding out what had happened to his missing pilots wasn't strategically mandatory, getting to the bottom of who was responsible for the planetary engineering project of Planet 'P' was. Instinctively, he knew they shouldn't ignore the situation and safely move the Fleet around the potential threat, as would be the usual course of action with a weapon as unknown, powerful and unpredictable as this network of Dynamos. With the Ravishol pulsar, they had at least known _what _sort of threat that they faced. Here, there were too many unknowns. Far too many. Also, the suggestion that there was some link with Earth was almost palpable. He could feel it. Taste it. He had to pursue it.

"Commander, we've just picked up elevated radion, in widely varied wavelons, from the surface of the planet again," Athena reported. "It seems to be directed at the point in the planet's orbit where the Vipers were last detected."

Adama took the stairs from the Command Level two at a time as he moved to her station, resting a hand on the back of her chair as he looked over her monitor. "Can you trace the exact source of the radion emissions, Athena?"

"Our scanners are still being affected, sir," Athena replied, clearly already working on it. "The radion waves seem to be effecting some kind of countermeasures. The coordinates of the source appears to be moving randomly every 3.333 microns, precisely."

"Concentrated scan."

"I already tried that, father. I've also tried to stabilize the waveforms from our own sensors, but the countermeasures seem to always be one step ahead of me, causing distortion. The scan beams from the _Galactica_ are scrambled almost as soon as they enter the planet's atmosphere, giving me garbled returns. Whatever they are, these other emissions react and adjust to everything I try before it has a chance to work."

"Commander, maybe trying to outdo the technology is the wrong approach," Tigh suggested, over his shoulder. "Maybe we need to . . . use something more archaic."

"Tigh?" Adama asked.

"Why don't we try emitting a scan on a gamma frequency? The same theory that Commander Dayton suggested with the _Endeavour_, sir. Perhaps the fact that the frequency is ancient will confuse the planet's defensive system. At least long enough to get some kind of meaningful results."

Adama nodded slowly. While not as precise, it would be a starting point. "That would at least give us an idea of the general area that the signals are coming from. Captain Apollo's team could investigate further from the surface."

"Commander, the _Endeavour_ is also equipped with what Commander Dayton referred to as 'radar'. It's a crude form of scanners, sir. Similar to what our own early space explorers used back before Unification," Athena spoke up. Much like her brother, she had been intrigued by the archaic systems of the Earth shuttle, and keen to learn more of the old ship. Commander Dayton had personally shown her around the flight deck and had given her a quick demonstration of its rebuilt systems. He had had a far away look on his face when he had described the imaging system. Apparently, it had been instrumental in adding data to their own knowledge of their planet at the time. Surprisingly, it had survived the depredations of the pirates largely intact, having been pulled from the shuttle and used to augment the base's patchwork network of scanners. Salvaged during the evacuation, Baker had managed to restore it with help from Hummer, and it was now back where it belonged. "It will give a detailed topographical analysis of the area."

"Very well," nodded Adama. "Athena, work with Rigel to retune our scanners for gamma frequency operations. Priority one."

"Right away, Commander," replied Athena.

"Good idea, Tigh," said Adama, turning to the Colonel. "I admit the thought of a gamma scan had never occurred to me."

"Well, all this immersion in archaic technologies of late . . . it seemed natural. Though I never thought I'd be using obsolete methods for countering countermeasures."

"Never let it be said that we've forgotten the relevance of the past in regards to the present, old friend, or the future," Adama returned, aware of the irony of his statement. It hadn't been that long since Dayton had accused him of doing just _that_, forgetting that the Cylons had destroyed their civilisation, as he single-mindedly lead their mortal enemies to Earth to potentially have history repeat itself. Yes, his quest for Earth continued, but the Commander was reminded that he had to be able to eliminate or rule out any threat of Cylon involvement before he arrived on the doorstep of his Earth brethren.

"Commander, I've just picked up low frequency radion wavelons that started at the same point in the planet's orbit that we traced the planetary emissions to, extending across the entire Dynamo Network and encapsulating the planet." Athena informed him.

"It could be they're relaying the signal from the planet . . ." He mused, "Are the Dynamos responding in any other way?"

"Not that I can detect, at least at this point, Father." Athena replied.

"Rigel, notify Captain Apollo on the _Endeavour_ of the same. Omega, monitor the Dynamo Network for any changes, however trifling they may seem. Now let's get our scanners reconfigured before that planetary signal stops again," Adama ordered. "Get Technician Hummer and his equipment up here, on the double, and have Corporal Komma in the Computer Centre render every aid that might be needed from that quarter."

A medley of 'yes, sirs' resounded around the Bridge.

xxxxxxxxxx

All too often, when life seemed to be going just the way you wanted, it had a way of abruptly tossing you on your astrum as though to suggest that maybe you weren't choosing your own flight path after all. Starbuck stared at Luana absolutely dumbfounded. She didn't want to get sealed to him. This would probably have been a good time to reflect upon his own reluctance to commit to various women in the previous deca-yahren, but . . .

"What the frack are you talking about, Luana?" He stumbled back from her embrace, pushing her away reflexively. "I seem to recall you saying 'yes'. If you didn't want to get sealed, then why the FRACK didn't you tell me that four sectars ago!" His tone of voice peaked with his emotions.

"I didn't say that I . . ." she reached for his arm, but he jerked away from her once again, turning his back and taking a rasping breath. His hand raked his hair and his body seemed to tense from top to bottom. No, not exactly the reaction she was expecting. "Starbuck . . ."

"Don't!" He whirled on her again, holding up a hand.

"You're not even giving me a chance to explain!" Luana pressed on, grabbing the hand he had intended to put some distance between them, only to have him jerk it away again.

"What's there to explain, Lu?" He asked angrily, turning away again and stumbling in the other direction. His anger seemed to wash over him in waves until it reached some kind of pinnacle. He felt like a volcano about to blow, and had the incredible urge to scream, or hit something. Yeah, maybe it was irrational, but his body was almost trembling with suppressed emotion. He needed to get away before he did something he'd regret.

"Hey! We need to talk about this!" Luana protested, hot on his heels. "You're overreacting!"

"Overreacting!" He whirled around again, startling when they collided. Instinctively, he reached out and gripped her arms, preventing her from tumbling backwards. He winced, and guilt lanced through him as she looked at him in wide-eyed surprise, and maybe a little fear.

Luana drew a jagged breath, as she looked him over. "Fine. Go." This time she pulled out of his grasp, taking a step back. "I think you need to calm down." Her voice was deliberately low and controlled, though she felt far from being in control. She ignored his obvious regret, written plainly on his features, and plunged on as he opened his mouth. "I'll be waiting right here when you're ready to talk. And we will talk, Starbuck, because you're out of your fracking head if you think that suddenly I don't love you and don't want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Lu . . ." he began.

"No! Now it's my turn." Her hands balled up into fists at her sides, and she resisted the incredible urge to grab his tunic and shake him until his brain cells banged against each other enough to stimulate some useful activity. "I don't deserve this! I start to tell you how I'm feeling lately, because it's been eating me alive, and you . . . you turn on me like I'm the fracking enemy, Starbuck." She shook her head as he opened his mouth again. She simply didn't want to hear it right now. "Go cool your turbines!"

"But . . ." he took a tentative step.

"I . . ." She raised both hands as if they could ward him off like some kind of shield. Surprisingly, it had the desired effect as he stopped in his tracks, his mouth tightening in a thin line. "I don't want to hear it right now. Go. . . cool. . . off."

He nodded briefly, before he turned and walked away.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton looked into the crew cabin one last time, shaking his head in wonder that this ship—_his_ ship—would soon be launching on her first mission in over thirty years. Apollo and Boomer were going over the newly installed instrumentation once again with Baker, and Med Tech Tone was securing his gear. All the men were suited up in the much lighter Colonial version of an Advanced Crew Escape Suit like the NASA astronauts used to wear for the ascent and entry portions of their missions. Despite the modifications they had made to the _Endeavour_, she still didn't have the sustainable internal artificial environment and gravity of the Colonial ships. They would be floating around on this one. Just like the old days.

This was it. T-minus thirty minutes. He could almost hear the voice from Mission Control in his ears. He glanced at his Colonial watch for the hundredth time, as a hand slapped him on the shoulder.

"I just came from the OC and it's official breaking news on the IFB," Ryan announced with a wide grin. "Mrs. Dayton's little boy is finally a beautician."

"That's Bureautician, Paddy." Dayton replied with a sniff, retreating with his friend into the middeck section, as Tone passed them heading forward.

"Oh?" Ryan replied. "Right. A shame, really. I need a haircut." He ran a hand theatrically through his hair.

"Yes, you do," he nodded, looking at the other's long, grey queue. Then at the pseudo-Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and bare feet in open-toed sandals. Oh, and he hadn't shaved in a few days either. "You're starting to look like a hippy, a vagrant . . . or an over-the-hill Tom Selleck."

"Tom never looked this good." Ryan sniffed under each armpit for effect, then shrugged. "Hey, I'm retired, old fella. I can look however I want to." He looked around the ship. "Wish I was going with you though."

"I thought you'd be the last one who would want to get back into the action," Dayton replied in surprise.

"Action I could do without. It's the fresh air I'd kill for," Ryan admitted, suddenly serious. "Thirty years is a long time to go without feeling the sun on your face, Mark."

"But you're from Canada. You never had the sunshine on your face until you came south of the forty-ninth, Paddy," he razzed the other. "If I remember, you don't have sun up there at all."

"Never thought the dogs would be able to pull the sled all the way to Florida . . ." Ryan continued the banter as he ran a hand over equipment, both familiar and new. "The road got a bit bumpy after I passed through St. Louis. Anyway, how's the Colonial pressure suit? Baker said it seemed to be working well for his varicose veins. Does wonder for the butt too, I'll bet. He said he might wear it all the time . . . if he can get someone to insert a 'Y' fly."

Dayton chuckled. "I think I dislocated my right shoulder getting into it. I'm scared to death of drinking anything because I might actually break something when I try to get out of it again."

"Still, you look a bit less like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man than we did in our day." Ryan returned, grinning as he looked his friend over. "Much more svelte."

"I was thinking of the Michelin Man, myself," Dayton returned, then grinned himself, "And speak for yourself, old man."  
Ryan paused to close a storage hatch that hadn't been properly secured by Tone. He automatically began double checking the storage lockers, ensuring everything was secure for the trip. Advanced Colonial medical equipment wouldn't be any use to them after floating around and then crashing to the deck. He looked up to see Dayton's eyes on him in amusement and something more. After all those years of watching out for each other, old habits died hard. "I know your enormous ego isn't going to be able to absorb this, so I'll say it twice. You're no spring chicken, Dayton. Be careful down there. And don't do anything stupid. Or idiotic. Or brave. Or thoughtless. Or . . ."

Dayton took a swat at him.

Ryan took a step back laughing. "Now, as I was saying, I know your enormous ego isn't going to absorb this, so I'll say it . . ."  
"Enough already! I get it," Dayton replied. "You're acting like my mother. I'm only doing this because it seemed like the best plan to deal with the Dynamos. And we owe it to Starbuck. I never planned on going on a mission again."

"Right. Which is why you and Baker swindled Starbuck at _Texas Hold'em_ so he would teach you how to fly in their ships." Ryan returned.

"Swindled? Are you insinuating that I cheated, Paddy?" Mark asked wide-eyed. "Moi?"

"No, I'm insinuating that you cheated Starbuck, mon frère." Ryan chuckled. "But since he usually has a card or two up his own sleeve, I'm not sure that it actually matters. Regardless, you've been dying to get back out there, Mark. Don't bother trying to pull the wool over my eyes."

"You ought to join ranks with Cassiopeia," Dayton muttered, shaking his head.

"Well, since you brought it up, she can recognize the well-rehearsed 'reluctant hero' scene when she sees it. Adama didn't exactly drag you into this by your heels." Ryan returned with a snort. "She's a smart lady and already has experience with your kind."

"What are you getting at?"

"Did _she_ sign on for this, Mark?" He waved a hand towards the flight deck. "Seems to me the lady was under the impression that you were a sedate professor with some political ambitions, not an astronaut dying to get back in the game, a la Clint Eastwood in Space Cowboys."

For a moment Dayton wondered if he should have discussed it with Cassiopeia first. At one time, he would never had made a big decision like that without consulting Yvonne. Then again, after all those years of being his own man, he was a little out of practice at being in a relationship. Ryan had a point . . . as usual. Dayton shuffled foot to foot than glanced at his watch. "T-minus twenty-five minutes, Paddy. We have to get ready."

"I don't think it's quite that precise here in Spaceville. After all, they blast off a bit more frequently." Ryan reminded him, then held out a hand to the other. "Safe trip."

"Thanks." Dayton returned the grip, feeling his friend's reluctance to let go as the other searched his features as if trying to memorize them . . . or if noting how much they had deteriorated with age since the last time he had truly gazed upon his ugly mug. "You're not going to hug me, are you?"

"Not while you're wearing a girdle, I'm not," Ryan replied with a grin, nodding towards the crew cabin again. "I'll just see off Bob and the others, then I'll be on my way."

"Of course." Dayton replied, feeling that familiar sensation of butterflies in his stomach that he always got before a launch. Only these butterflies felt more like they were wearing armoured plating and wielding maces. He watched Ryan say a quick farewell, then with another slap on his back depart, closing the hatch behind him.

"We're ready here, Commander Dayton." Apollo called back. "We just heard from the Bridge. They picked up an emergency beacon from Viper Two . . . uh, Starbuck's ship. They're having trouble locking in on the coordinates, but at least we have a general idea and should be able to pick up the signal when we get through the atmosphere."

"All right, Captain." It was good news. At least they knew for sure that Starbuck was alive if he was well enough to activate his beacon. He knew the kid was tough. The Colonial Warrior had proved it time and time again. Dayton tried not to think about Luana for now. They'd find out soon enough. "Let's get started." He pulled on his helmet, securing it and stepping onto the flight deck. He stepped past Apollo, Boomer and Tone, and patted Baker on the shoulder, then slipped into his traditional seat on the left, and strapped in. It all seemed a bit surreal.

Until he looked down the runway towards space and realized that he—Mark Dayton, Commander of the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_, leader of men, survivor of Torg's hellish pirate base, Earth authority, and now quasi-Bureautician and Earth Liaison Officer—had an almost seventy-year-old bladder, and needed to take a wicked wizz before take-off.

xxxxxxxxxx-

"Welcome," said Sire Uri, as he ushered Sire Geller into his quarters. The architect of the 'Carillon debacle' guided his guest to a seat, and gestured towards the wet bar. Geller nodded, always willing to sample the finest. Someone _else_'s finest, preferably.

"Thank you," said Geller, pacing about the room. He waited until Uri finished preparing his own drink, and sat down opposite him.

"Well," said Uri.

"Well," replied Geller. "It seems, old friend, that the winds have changed in the Fleet. I find myself with time on my hands . . ."

"Yes," rumbled Uri, sipping at his ambrosa. It was of the Proteus vintage, acquired through means best left unexplored. "This new crop of Councillors is not of our ilk."

"No. They are 'yes' men. Whiners at Adama's heels." Geller took a long slug, as if to wash the taste of the words out of his mouth.

"I don't think one could call _Montrose_ a whiner," said Uri, looking at Geller over the rim of his glass. From the state of his eyes, it was obvious this glass wasn't his first of the day.

"Only because no one from his Colony stood against him, Uri," replied Geller. "But then Montrose could probably get re-elected until Doomsday."

"Perhaps," said Uri, standing to refill both his and his guest's drink. "So, what do you suggest we do about it? Sit here and complain, or take action?"

"Action of course. But _what _action? Thank you," he took the proffered drink, and sipped slowly.

"Geller, my dear old friend, what do you think of Commander Dayton?"

"What? The Earth astronaut?" said Geller, head snapping up quickly. "Ah."

"Yes," smiled Uri. "Ever since the arrival of Dayton and his fellow Earthmen, the offensive has gradually shifted in Adama's favour. The people are besotted with them, as you no doubt have seen."

"Yes!" spat Geller angrily. "The people! Herded bovine to be led! And these . . ." he stopped, snorting, as he stared into his glass. "Even my own kin has gone after them. Seeking them out, listening to their wild tales, even trying to learn their language! Bah! They are fools. Just like ovine, waiting to follow . . ."

"Well, there is always a solution, old friend," said Uri. "We just need to exercise patience and a modicum of cunning, in order to bring things back into line."

"What would you suggest?" His eyes glinted with newfound purpose. He laid aside his ambrosa for the moment. "With these newcomers, Adama's obsessive drive to find Earth has gained new momentum. More and more of the people are falling in line with his pious crusade, and sensible voices like ours are being drowned out by the . . . the marching moronic masses."

"Then you agree with me? We should find a suitable star system as soon as possible, and settle there? Abandon this idiotic trek?"

"Absolutely. The Cylons have ceased to be a threat," replied Geller with some heat. Like Uri, he was a comfort creature. Long accustomed to living in sybaritic luxury, the destruction of the Colonies had reduced him to living aboard a ship. Now while the best suites aboard the _Rising Star _were not exactly a vermin-infested hovel in a poverty-ridden slum, it was a far cry from the many vast and palatial homes Geller's family used to own and enjoy. Like several others, he longed, nay _lusted _to settle somewhere, where a planet-bound civilization could take root once more and provide all the amenities that life in the Fleet often had to do without.

Under _their_ leadership and guidance, of course. After all, the people _needed_ them.

"Then, we need to direct our attentions, not at Adama per se, but at his newfound support." Uri let the words hang for a few moments.

"As I said, old friend, the people are besotted with the Earthmen. What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing tarnishes a reputation quite like an accusation," replied Uri, with a smile. "And, even if ultimately one is found innocent of any wrongdoing . . ."

"Their reputation is never quite the same," finished Geller. "And the momentum will have shifted."

"In our favour," nodded Uri. "Now, as you know, Commander Dayton has been nominated to advisor's status on the Council."

"Yes, I just saw it on the IFB, official Earth Liaison. Which gives him Adama's ear, and great influence over the rest of the Council."

"Including Adama's pet, Tinia."

"What do you have in mind, Uri? And what can I do to help forward the return of common sense to the Council?"

"Well," smiled Uri again, and it was _not_ a pretty sight, "as you know, Commander Dayton has sort of taken up where our infamous Lieutenant Starbuck left off, with the lovely med tech, Cassiopeia. And, his friend, uh . . . Ryan, seems most friendly with Lieutenant Dietra."

"Ah," smiled Geller, and it wasn't a pretty sight either. "Tell me more."

xxxxxxxxxx-

It was like a self-destruct mechanism that had auto-engaged as soon as his temper flared and he opened his mouth. Full turbos, disengage brain, Lieutenant!

It was especially ironic, because he used to be known for his silver tongue and his smooth way with women. Starbuck shook his head, picking up a stone and firing it across the clear body of water that had collected beneath the waterfall and sprawled out for kilometrons in the distance. One, two, three, four . . . the flat stone skipped across the surface and finally plunged into the depths. He could actually follow its path down to the bottom through the crystal clear water. He glanced up at the cascading flow that seemed to lazily wind its way down from the rolling green hills and white stone cliffs above in several tiers, taking its time reaching its destination as though reminding all those that gazed upon it, that nature was in no hurry to get where it was going.

You really should be trying to get your communications going right now, Bucko, not sitting on your astrum worrying about your love life and taking in the scenery. Ruefully, he remembered that his 'communications' with Luana would have to precede any attempt at repairing his Viper's comm system. Yeah, he was definitely experiencing firsthand how being involved with your wingmate could complicate the mission.

He sighed, leaning down and trailing his hand through the cold water from where he sat on the boulder that seemed to have been put there specifically for him to enjoy the magnificent view. He was really beginning to feel the warmth of the sun now that he had paraded across a couple hundred metrons of waist to shoulder high foliage. He squatted beside the lake, scooping up water with cupped hands, and slaking his thirst. Of course, he hadn't had the presence of mind to bring any water with him when he stalked off across the valley towards the waterfall, after all, what better place to 'cool off'? He could almost hear his old survival instructor barking at him for not testing the water before drinking it . . . so he took another gulp in a heartfelt toast to the old bugger. He squinted down at the bottom, as the sunlight seemed to reflect off a shimmering surface causing a spectrum of colour to dance in the water. It was mesmerizing.

Why did you jump down her throat?

He sighed, feeling all the residual anger drain out of him with that one breath. She was right, he'd overreacted. He'd assumed she didn't want to get sealed. He'd been waiting for something to go wrong, after all. Hades, after a lifetime of screwing up every good relationship—not to mention even more _bad_ ones—he'd ever been in, it was only a matter of time before something happened with this one.

Yeah, life was a little too good. They hadn't seen a trace of the Cylons for almost eight sectars. The Earthmen—with the possible exception of Dickins—seemed to be fitting into the Fleet nicely, and their enterprises had been hugely successful except for the rejected IFB pitch for Mark Dayton and Ristretto Kid. However, that was Ryan's idea, and Starbuck could safely say he had nothing to do with it. Then there was his relationship with Chameleon, which had finally evolved into something comfortable. Not exactly father-son, or at least from an Adama-Apollo perspective, but a slowly coalescing friendship. Starbuck was still learning things about his mother, his father, and himself. Like his real name for instance. Who the Hades Hole in their right minds would name their son . . .? He shuddered at the memory, and hoped that Chameleon would be as good as his word and keep it quiet. Lords, what were they thinking?

Then there was Luana.

Yeah, it was too cliché to even think about. She just had this knack for making him feel like a kid in love for the very first time. He smiled faintly, actually thinking back to his first love, and abruptly realized this was actually significantly better than that. Luana had a unparalleled zest for life, with an almost naïve exuberance that constantly amazed him. Not to mention the fact that she didn't seem the least bit put off by his other pursuits in life, such as cards, triad, and the various schemes and enterprises he seemed to be constantly working on. The most incredible part was that four sectars after they had declared their love for one another, that really hadn't changed . . . well, other than this deep, dark secret that she wanted to discuss that had apparently been 'eating her alive'.

Ah . . . that might have had something to do with why he had reacted the way he had. He had thought that she was as happy as he was. Sagan, up until a few centars ago, he was on top of the world. How could a guy go about cheerfully with his scanners down for four solid sectars, not having a frackin' clue that his betrothed was slowly being ingested bit by bit by something he hadn't even been aware of?

He sighed, dipping his hands into the water again, and this time liberally splashing the cold water over his face and hair. He noticed the sun seemed to be climbing higher in the sky, and realized it was probably going to get a lot warmer. Then abruptly a scream filled the air, immediately followed by the whining pulse of a laser blast.

He leapt off the boulder, racing back towards the Vipers, his heart racing even faster than his feet.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Commander, long-range scans just picked up . . ." Omega paused, looking hard at his monitor. "It's gone."

Adama leaned over the man's shoulder looking at the empty field before him. "Where?"

"Delta 8, Commander. I've seen it three times now, always in the same position." Omega replied, pointing to the area in question on his screen. "It's acting like it's shadowing us."

Tigh leaned in. "Like it's trying to stay out of scanner range."

"Which would mean they would have to know just what our scanner range is, sir," added Omega.

"Precisely. Commander, the last time we picked up something like that . . ."

"I know, Tigh." It had been shortly before they had encountered the Void, and found the ancient homeworld of Kobol. As it turned out, it had been Cylons. "Bojay and Sheba are fully fuelled and are in a holding pattern for escort of the _Endeavour_. Reassign them to investigate this quadrant, and have Jolly and Dietra take their place as escort."

"Yes, Sir."

xxxxxxxxxx

"This is Commander Dayton of the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_, requesting permission to launch." Dayton sat whip tight in his seat, eyes going over the instruments in front of him. For the zillionth time, he sent up a prayer—make that a _fervent _prayer—hoping that their jury-rigged rebuild of the shuttle would get the job done. Of course, right now he would settle for it not blowing up on launch. Or anytime after launch, come to think of it.

When he had entered the hangar bay where the _Endeavour _had been stowed since her retrieval from the pirate asteroid and then rebuilt, he was once again awestruck by the sheer size of the Colonial vessel that surrounded them. It was like standing in the old VAB at the Cape, looking up at the ceiling far above him. Even the hangar deck on one of the _Nimitz_-class carriers was small compared to this. As he walked towards his old ship, the fuelling boom was just being withdrawn, and the newly installed fuel tank—taking up almost half the cargo bay—was being sealed by the hangar crew. There had been nothing here built to fit her, and her own internal fuel tanks and lines were not designed to hold the highly volatile compounds used in these engines, so a new tank, etc., had been fabricated. According to the engineers, she now carried enough fuel to fly a patrol equal in length to that of the Vipers.

_Now, if the damn tiles just don't fall off__ . . . _

He came back to the moment, a small part of him was waiting for the person on the other end of the line to start laughing uproariously, and then politely remind him that he was an old fart who had no business being back on the flight deck. He glanced at his pilot, who was performing final checks all over again. For the third time.

"Shouldn't another be computing?" Baker mumbled over the comm in his rough Colonial Standard.

"Huh?" Boomer asked from behind them, wishing Baker would just use the damn languatron link like he had suggested. He glanced at Apollo who shrugged, not understanding his meaning either. Of course, relying entirely upon the languatron might get them anything from a sealing proposal to another weird Earth recipe, especially with Wilker's programming. He fidgeted in his seat, impatient to get it over with. Lords, he felt more nervous than a cadet on his first solo. After all, this thing hadn't even had a test run on the revamped engines, or the recycled main computer. Sure, it was communicating just fine with the _Galactica__'_s own mainframe for now, loading navigational data, but with no serious diagnostics run as yet, who knew? That, and they were taking it on a rescue mission up against a new variety of Dynamos that they couldn't predict.

"Shouldn't someone be counting." Dayton corrected his friend. "In our day, Mission Control used to countdown to lift off." He smiled fondly at the memory, before speaking in a contrived, deep voice: "_Endeavour_, we are at T-Minus twenty minutes, and counting."

"Why?" Med Tech Tone asked. He had to admit, he found all this. . .antiquity he was currently immersed in completely fascinating. In fact, if he were not already committed to a career in medicine. . .

"Well, it was a bit more of a production back then." Dayton looked back over his shoulder. "We weren't launching something into space every two minutes . . . er, centons. Believe it or not, it actually cost over four-hundred and fifty million dollars per launch." Dayton replied, catching Baker's nod of agreement. His friend understood ninety percent of what was being said, yet still had trouble verbalising it fluently. "Consequently, there was a lot more emphasis on following the list of safety checks and inspections. Even more so, after we lost the _Challenger__,_back in '86." He saw Tone open his mouth to ask and shook his head, his mouth in a thin line. "Another time."

"For how many centons did you countdown?" Apollo asked.

Dayton sniffed. "Centons? Try centars. Approximately, forty-three of them. And Mission Control could scrub us for a lot of reasons. Computer foul-ups. Malfunctioning sensors. Heat-shield tiles not just right. Even the weather. Like I told Tone, we learned the hard way that you don't get complacent. Get complacent, and people die."

"Uhh, scrub?" asked Boomer, trying to reconcile the image of the astronauts being thoroughly washed over with sonic cleaners. Surely. . .

"Cancel. Abort. It's an old term going back to long before we ever went into space. Just a colloquialism."

Apollo shook his head, trying to put himself in their place. Hundreds of millions of cubits spent on _one_ mission. Lives at stake. Yeah, if that was the case, he'd take every precaution to ensure that nothing went wrong. Especially at a stage of development where the technology was still so. . .crude.

"_Endeavour_, you are cleared to launch," Rigel informed them.

"Thank you." Dayton returned. "This is it, Bob."

"Then let's do it right, Mark." Baker returned in English. He flipped up several switches, and with a sharp _thump, _the engines began to whine. The shuttle started to vibrate. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . ." In front of them, the hangar bay doors began to open, and the ship began to move out into the launch bay.

Dayton chuckled, then joined in. Moving the stick, he pointed her nose towards space, lining the _Endeavour _up with the markings on the flight deck. Together they counted down as the _Endeavour_ headed down the runway, picking up speed. His eyes flicked rapidly from the windows to the instruments and back again. The engines were operating as promised, well within all operational tolerances. Speed continued to climb, fuel system, computers, G-indicator, everything was just as they had not dared to hope.

_Now, as long as the windows don't blow out__. . .__or my bladder__ . . ._

"Seal helmets," he ordered. Without comment, they all complied.

". . . three, two, one. . ."

"Houston, we have lift off!" Dayton added with a grin as he felt the runway disappear beneath them, and the gravity plummet.  
"Yeehaw!" Baker whooped beside him. They could hear the engines roar, and the stars filled the ports. Within seconds, the other ships of the Fleet became visible.

Dayton moved the stick, and the _Endeavour _banked over, clawing for open space. Both men looked at the instruments. "Good God! Look at that speed!"

"Bloody hell!" said Baker, grin wide. "We're moving at. . .eighty thousand. . .a hundred-fifty thousand. . .a quarter mil. . ."

"Never gone this fast before?" asked Boomer, hiding a smile.

"Not with us in control," said Dayton. "Holy shit, if only Patrolman Magnotti could see me now!"

"Who?" asked Apollo.

"A cop who issued me a lot of speeding tickets when I was a kid. Man, Oh Man!"

"Okay, let's get to where we're supposed to be," said Boomer. He looked at the nearest instrument panel, trying to review on the spot what he had learned over the last few sectars. _How the heck do you work this thing again?_

"You got it, Lieutenant," said Dayton. He keyed the nav data downloaded from the _Galactica, _and laid the course in. Reprogramming the _Galactica_'s scanners on a gamma frequency to trace the planet's mysterious radion emissions had paid off in spades. They had been able to identify coordinates that would narrow the search within the circumference of five hundred metron area. Not so surprisingly, Colonel Tigh had informed them that Starbuck's emergency beacon was being emitted from the same area. With a smoothness that would have impressed her original designers, the _Endeavour_ banked to port, leaving the Colonial Fleet behind at a speed that both Earthmen still found stunning. "Alright, we are on course for the planet. Locking on to the emergency beacon from the Viper."

"All systems nominal so far," said Baker

"Our ETA?" asked Apollo.

"At our maximum velocity, we are vectored to reach IP with the planet in. . .two centars, sixteen and one half centons. Mark."

_Wish we had had time to install those_light-speed pulse generators _they talked about. Hell, warp drive!_

"You read that, _Galactica_?" asked Baker.

"Loud and clear," came a voice. Adama's. "Good luck and Godspeed, _Endeavour._"

"You too, Commander," said Baker. He looked down at his instruments, and edged the ship's speed up a notch. Though still within the theoretical safety limits, they would need to tread carefully. He turned to his Commander, as the man began to hum. The song was familiar. He glanced again at the control panel, trying to enjoy being back in the action. But that song. Why did he have to pick that song? "Do you mind?"

"What?" Dayton asked, as he watched the Viper escort move into position.

"If you're going to hum, could you pick something other than 'Mission Impossible'?" Baker requested, his tone betraying his own tension.

"Oh." Dayton replied with a frown. "Right. Sorry."

VAB--Vehicle Assembly Building, where the shuttle is mated to the external fuel tank, and solid rocket boosters. It was used to assemble the old Saturn V rockets for the Apollo moon shots, as well.

xxxxxxxxxx

_ I wonder what's happening, down there?_

"What?" asked Bojay, looking over at Sheba's Viper, barely visible against the stars.

"Uhh. . .I said I think we're in the middle of nowhere," she shot back, unaware she had spoken aloud. She was, she had to admit, glad to be flying with Bojay. Uncomplicated, straight forward, down-to-Caprica Bojay. Except for the emblems on their uniforms and helmets, it was like old times, before encountering the _Galactica_ and the Fleet. Back when she and everyone else on the _Pegasus _had wondered if they were the last surviving Humans in the universe. How her world had changed since then. How she still missed her father.

_Are you there, Father?_ she idly wondered, looking at a star picked at random

She was also, she hated to admit, disappointed from once again being excluded from a mission. She had _so_ wanted to go down to the planet on the old Earth shuttle, trying to find Starbuck and Luana. The chance to actually fly in a ship, so primitive by their standards, its like was usually seen only in old pictures in schoolbooks. Or museums. She'd seen something like it once, as a little girl on a natal day outing to the Science and Technology Museum, during one of her father's rare times home from the war. She had wondered then how something so. . .so backwards, could have ever flown.

Well, apparently it had, from the transmissions they had listened in on, until the Earthmen had shut down upon reaching the planet. One day, she told herself, one day she would get to fly that old firecracker, if it. . .

"Yes?" she said to Bojay, snapping back to business.

"We have a contact," he reported. "Just where the _Galactica_'s scanner put it. Bearing 227 by 490, in our Delta Quadrant."

"I see it," she said, adjusting her scanner. "But it's not moving."

"Drifting. We're still a long way off, but I get no active power signatures, no elevated radion detected, barely above background thermally."

"Mass analysis?"

"Metal, and huge. On the opposite side of this system we're just entering. But something's obscuring my scanners, Sheba."

"I have a bad feeling about this, Bojay. Like this is some kind of trap."

"You and me both." He paused, "Alright, we split up. Approach Pattern Gamma One."

"Gotcha. See you when we get there."

Bojay's Viper banked away, and Sheba took the opposite direction, the two fighters moving to flank the mysterious object from both sides. Just in case. The further she flew into this solar system, the more her scanners were obscured by clouds of dust, and ionized gasses, ejecting from the red giant sun. Given all the scanner-smothering muck, it was remarkable they had seen it as far away as they had. She tweaked her scanner some more, and the huge, amorphous blob began to resolve itself. It slowly became clearer and clearer, as her pulse and anxiety grew higher and higher.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, hitting Unicom to the Fleet and gripping the firing control.

"_Frack!__"_Bojay spat, as they came face to face with the Cylon Base Ship, hangar doors open, floating lopsided in space.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Well, you sure got the booby prize, Cassiopeia." The usual hoarse, low voice that only ever spoke to her in "English".  
Cassie looked at the Earthman, shaking her head at the statement as the words came through the Languatron. She'd spent enough time with Mark to have picked up a number of the Earth colloquialisms, especially some of their more commonly used ones. This 'booby prize' remark seemed to be one of their favourites.

"Hardly, Dick," Cassie assured Dickins, taking the arm he offered her as they walked from the Docking Lounge towards the Astral Lounge of the _Rising Star_. It was supposed to have been a dinner for five. Her and Mark, Dietra and Ryan, and Dickins—the odd man out. Then again, Dickins always seemed to be the odd man out.

Unlike his compatriots, he was having a difficult time finding his place in the Fleet. Beneath a quiet, distant demeanour—bordering often on anti-social—there seemed to be an underlying current of anger that he kept repressed, as though it was a deep, dark secret that he wanted buried forever. However, often it appeared in abrupt and unexpected physical aggression. His reputed attack on the pirates on their asteroid base during the prisoners' escape—when he had wielded a pipe, beating a man to a bloody pulp, and then killing several others with his bare hands—came briefly to mind. More recently, so did a hoverhockey accident involving Apollo. Realistically, it should have scared her. But Cassiopeia had seen what desperation could do to some people—the night they had all fled the Colonies coming to mind—and ultimately, Dickins had never been anything other than a perfect gentleman with her, often trying to overcome his obvious introversion when he was with her. Then again, being the first person he had opened his eyes to in the Life Station, and the med tech who had consistently provided him with compassionate and efficient care as he recovered from his injuries while adapting to a new environment, they had formed a bond of mutual respect early on. Which was why she had agreed to keep an eye on him for Mark, while the Commander was on his 'one-and-only' mission.

_One and only! Hmm._

"It must be difficult not being on this mission with Mark and Bob," Cassie probed, as they entered the elegant lounge looking for their friends. She watched a series of emotions flit across his face before he scowled.

"What I wouldn't give to breathe some fresh air again, Cassiopeia . . .preferably Earth's," he returned briefly, before spotting Ryan waving enthusiastically at them, and steering her in that direction.

"Dickins, you look lovely," Ryan smiled at the customary dark shirt and pants that the deceptively slight man seemed to wear every day of the week as he rose to greet them. He shook his friend's hand, before kissing Cassiopeia on the cheek. "Cassiopeia, you're absolutely radiant." He paused dramatically to gaze upon her in unabashed adoration, winking as she shook her head at his obvious flattery. Pulling out a chair for her, he added, "Dee was delayed. She drew Viper escort for our boys. She'll be along as soon as she can get away."

"Thanks, Paddy," she smiled warmly at him. This man was as close to a brother as Mark could have in the Fleet, and they had spent long centars in one another's company discussing art, history, culture, life, philosophy and . . . Mark Dayton.

"My pleasure. Dickins, I took the liberty of ordering you one of those Empyrean Ales that Starbuck is always flogging." He pointed to the tall tankard of dark brew and pushed it towards his friend as he took his seat.

"You're a lifesaver," Dickins replied as he slid into his seat. Immediately, he picked the heavy tankard up, and downed half of it in a single go, appreciating how the fine brew seemed to dull the garish pomposity of his surroundings. "Not bad."

Earthmen and their impressive capacity for drink. Cassiopeia figured they could drink most Colonial men—with the possible exception of certain pilots in Blue Squadron—under the table.

"Cassiopeia, can I get you something?" Ryan asked. "Drink?"

"Ambrosa would be nice," she replied, looking to catch a server's eye. Four separate servers were suddenly being kept very busy by two well-known, but recently displaced, Council members. She frowned and dropped her gaze as Sire Uri raised a glass to her cordially from across the room. Though the very epitome of self-confidence, Cassie could never suppress a tiny shudder whenever she saw the man.

"Who are the big wigs?" Ryan asked, as the staff made every effort to fawn over the two old men wearing pristine, long robes that reminded him of the ancient Greeks, or the Toga Party in Animal House. Then he watched one of them stuff a piece of roasted flesh into his mouth, the juices running down his jowls as he bit into it, and realized that John Belushi would fit right in . . . as long as he didn't start a food fight.

"Big. . .oh, I see," said Cassie. "Sires Uri and Geller. Both former members of the Council of Twelve before the election. Though Sire Uri seemed to spend more time in absentia than in office." Cassiopeia added, still feeling his probing eyes upon her. She resisted the impulse to look again in their direction. There was no reason that either man should be taking an interest in her. She had never had the occasion to meet either of them. Thankfully.

"Which one is which?" asked Ryan.

"Uri is on the left," said Dickins, smiling slightly at Cassiopeia's surprise. Most people thought that he didn't pay much mind to current events in the Fleet. And, in fact, most of them were right. But he'd heard Starbuck filling Dayton in on the previous Council a couple months before. The young warrior had predicted that Uri might not be re-elected.

"Well, they sure find us interesting," Ryan added with a grin, abruptly contorting his face hideously in their direction, and then thumbing his nose for good measure.

"You know, this kind of service is ridiculous at eight cubits an ale," Dickins griped, still not used to the idea that he was a wealthy man from the kickbacks from the _Rising Star_ chancery. He raised his glass in the air, and called out, "Hey, Joe! Could we get a round here?"

Cassie held a breath, caught between amusement and embarrassment, as she felt every eye in the place upon them. Dickins looked as though he was regretting his outburst as the room collectively stared upon him in disbelief. Of course, the languatron didn't adjust volume in coordination with its user, so most of them had no idea what he'd said . . . but the glass waving in the air gave them a good idea. Ryan looked bemused, but not the least bit uncomfortable. "An ambrosa and two Empyrean Ales would do it," she added sweetly, pointing to their table.

"You're a class act, Cassiopeia," Ryan reached over and squeezed her hand, as the room slowly returned to normal. "No wonder Mark's head-over-heels."

"Head-over-heels?" she asked. _Lords, another colloquialism. Do they ever run out?_

"Bloody hell, they're still not getting our drinks." Dickins complained, as he finished his ale. "I'll go." He pushed his chair back, and languatron in hand, headed for the bar.

"Want some help?" Ryan called after him.

"If I want your help, I'll ask for it," Dickins returned sourly. He could order a few friggin' drinks without a designated babysitter at his side. He made a beeline for the same barkeep he had addressed from across the room, and stood in front of the man until 'Joe' mustered the guts up to meet his unshakeable gaze. "One ambrosa, two Empyrean Ales." He refrained from yelling it, and asking if 'Joe' was deaf or just stupid, with considerable effort. Who said he had no self-control?

"Bar stock?" the barkeep asked as he place two bottles on the bar, "or Proteus reserve?"

"The best you have," Dickins returned, then nodded back towards their table. "It's for the lady." He rested an elbow on the bar as the barkeep nodded and turned to grab a glass.

"Some lady. Nothin' but a frackin' tramp and socialator. A fancy streetwalker," a voice said from over his shoulder, but the languatron picked it up just the same.

And _socialator_ did not come out at all nice. Not at all.

Dickins turned around. "Who are you talking to, mister?"

"You."

The guy was solid muscle, and as big as a tree, with a body by Schwarzenegger. He looked like a bouncer or a hired goon, with all the depth of intellect and social skills that implied. There were three other guys not far behind him, equally as big, watching the proceedings a little too closely, and obviously, giving themselves away. If they also were hired, then he hoped they were only getting minimum wage. "Then the next words out of your mouth had better be, 'I'm truly sorry for what I just said, and I'm actually even more stupid than I look', or I'm going to wipe the floor with your sorry carcass, asshole." Considering the message, he had thought the delivery was polite and suitable to the _ambience_ of the establishment. He hoped nothing was lost in the translation. Dickins smiled pleasantly as he awaited a response. Dayton would be proud of him.

You could have heard a pin drop.

"You and what army?" the mountainous man sneered back at him. Arms akimbo, he smiled, showing his teeth.

"Army? Oh, now I _am_ mad! I'm Navy, bub." With that, Dickins gave him a quick, powerful blow to the gut, followed by a classic uppercut to the jaw. With barely a grunt, the big man fell, and stayed down.

"Hey!"

"Get him!" The other three approached him as a unit.

"Bring it on!" Dickins roared, smashing the bottom off a bottle of ale on the bar, and leaping towards them, seeing red, and little else as he stepped over the insensate body of the defamer of socialators.

"Oh, shit!" said Ryan. He half-rose in concern, then remembered Dickins' parting words. If I want your help, I'll ask for it. He sighed, taking his seat again. He hoped his friend didn't get too much of their blood on the bar. Or even worse, get him banned from this fine establishment.

"Paddy!" Cassiopeia exclaimed admonishingly.

Her concern was needless. The first thug had lunged, apparently depending on his bulk and strength to win the day. He didn't see Dickins' foot coming up, but definitely felt it smashing into his left knee. He bellowed in pain, and thus missed the bottle crashing down on his head. Almost at once, the Earthman turned, and gripping the bar with both hands, vaulted up and plowed both feet into Thug Number Two. The goon gasped as the air exploded from his lungs, and sailed back, crashing into Thug Number Three. So swiftly had it all come down, the last man barely had time, or inclination, to move out of the way. Slammed by his partner, he sailed into a vacant table, coming at last to rest on the floor, unconscious.

"Pussies." Dickins straightened up, and brushed off his clothes. He squatted down beside the still barely conscious thug that had started all this. He picked the man up by the collar, and loud enough to be heard, told him, "You don't talk that way about my friends, asswipe."

"Uuuhhhh.. . ."

_Thud._

"Sorry about the mess," said Dickins to the barkeep, then followed his gaze to the entrance. Heading straight for him were Colonial Security, and just behind them, Zara from the IFB. He looked back at Ryan who winked and raised his tankard in salute.

"You want that help now, buddy?" Ryan called out with a grin.

xxxxxxxxxx

Centons of a panic driven, headlong rush were interrupted by training, common sense, along with an unsurpassed instinct for survival finally kicking in. Starbuck slowed his sprint across the grassy field of dappled, purple flowers, his senses beginning to tune in to his surroundings, and to look for a sign of whatever could have startled Luana.

Or worse.

He recognized it in a milli-centon. That familiar drone that he had experienced first-hand enough times in his career to make an unforgettable impact. It sent a surge of icy terror through his veins as he thought about the potential ramifications of what it could mean for Lu . . . and ultimately, the Fleet. He abruptly dropped to the ground, drawing his weapon in a single smooth motion.

A solid centon of hugging the dirt was enough. He could hear the Cylon Centurions moving around through the overgrown foliage, crashing about with all the grace and stealth of a raging elephanton. He was immediately reminded of their seemingly relentless hunt of him on Attila so many sectars ago when he had crash landed. Of course, he had been more than a little out of it after hitting the ground with enough impact to bury his fighter up to the nose, before fleeing injured through a swamp to futilely try and evade capture. The differences this time was that he was fit, and they might not even be aware of his presence.

He began crawling through the underbrush on his belly, heading back towards the Vipers. He _had_ to reach Lu. She was a relatively new ensign who had never even laid eyes on a Cylon while in a combat situation, after spending almost twenty yahrens in the backwoods of Empyrean before joining the Fleet. They had obviously caught her unaware as evidenced by her scream . . . though they weren't exactly known for sneaking up on their quarry once on the ground.

Now the obvious problem with crawling on your stomach for enough metrons was a guy eventually got a bit disoriented when staring at the stalks of thick, yellow grass. Starbuck longed to climb to his feet and take a look for the Vipers that he knew must be sitting nearby, big as life. Instead, he used his well-honed sense of direction, and hoped it worked as well in grassy fields full of dirt, insectons and Cylons, as it did in space.

Then he saw it.

Starbuck crawled closer to the inert, horizontal Centurion, like a moth drawn to a flame. Of course, the charred blast across its breastplate and the lingering scent of burnt diodes gave him a certain sense of security. The last time he had been that close—other than in Dr. Wilker's lab with Baltar's captured pilots—he had been slung over one's shoulder. Not a memory he held dear.

_These Cylons are not well constructed. They damage easily!_ He couldn't help a moment's reflection at the ironic thought. He looked again at the charred Cylon, taking some pride in the marksmanship.

Nice shot, Lu.

But where the frack _was_ she? His eyes scoured the surrounding area for signs of blood, a struggle, a trail. He looked for the subtle, yet telltale signs of a young woman being surrounded by an entire unit of Cylons at pulse rifle-point, and forcibly marched away. However, it looked as though the same raging elephanton had trampled the ground with a few of his rampaging friends, so discerning what had happened was something better left to soothsayers rather than fighter pilots.  
Stretched out behind the considerable bulk of the inert Cylon, he could see there were still four centurions standing guard by the Vipers. He squinted at them, wondering why they looked different to him. Maybe a little more bulky with a heavier grade armour than what he was used to. Definitely, they do with a good polish. It could be that they were an older design, but what the frack would they be doing on this planet? Not that it wasn't a nice setting for a Cylon Senior Citizen's Home, featuring regular Diode changes for troubles with those embarrassing leaks . . . Hmm.

Getting to his ship and deactivating the emergency beacon crossed his mind. If he could pull it off, assuming the _Galactica_ had picked up his signal, at least they would wonder why it had abruptly stopped, perhaps giving any potential rescue party a warning. It was the four to one odds against him that he didn't like. A further unknown amount of Cylons seemed to be spreading out, searching, probably for him. Four well-aimed laser blasts ringing out consecutively might give him time to get to the Viper and deactivate the signal, but not to escape again without back up. And if he was going to find Luana, being footloose and fancy free was high on his list of priorities. No, he'd have to try something else. But what?

The blast of a Colonial laser pierced the air, and Starbuck saw the first Centurion erupt in a cloud of sparks and jerk spasmodically before it fell. Instinctively, he fired on the two furthest from its position. Obviously, Luana was alive, well, and true to form, engaging the enemy. However, he didn't have time to rejoice in that fact and his targets fell in milli-centons. He was already on his feet and running full tilt towards the Vipers when Lu appeared from the tall grasses, having just as effectively eliminated her chosen targets.

"The emergency beacon!" she yelled to him.

"I know!" he replied, agilely scaling his ship and leaning into the cockpit to access the control boards. "Cover me!" he shouted as he twisted his way into position.

It didn't take much to disable it, considering the effort he had exerted to get it working. He jerked the circuit board out of the control panel, to ensure they didn't turn it on again. Lords, if only he could send some kind of meaningful signal . . .

"Starbuck!"

Her warning preceded three shots, all of them Lu's. He could almost envision the enemy doing the Cylon herky-jerky before they fell. He pushed himself out of the cockpit, dropping to the ground, his weapon in hand as he swept the area.

"Move!" Luana shouted, backing towards the tall grasses, still covering them.

"Let's get the frack out of here!" Starbuck replied, grabbing her hand and pulling her along.

She jerked it out of his grasp, knowing she could run a lot faster if they weren't handfasted. Now, now, Lu. "Where?"

A searing heat flew past them, and they reflexively threw themselves to the ground, rolling and then moving on all fours deeper into the grasses. Luana paused, glancing in the other direction, her mouth opening in a look of horror. Starbuck looked over to see what she was staring at.

The grass was burning!

Frack!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Mark . . ." Baker breathed, looking at the blue and white planet as they drew nearer. He pointed, almost unconsciously. Even with the obvious differences in the landmass arrangement, in his gut and in his chest, he could still feel a yearning for home.  
"I know," Dayton replied quietly. "It's. . ." He took a deep, choked breath, and looked down at the instruments. He powered up the passive scanners, original to the shuttle and salvaged. They correlated very well with what their more advanced Colonial counterparts were telling him. Currently, they were 119,750 nautical miles out from the planet, and continuing to decelerate after main engine shutdown. He was somehow unsurprised at the data he was getting. Diameter. Mass. Rotational speed. Axial inclination. Distance from primary star. Atmosphere. Average global temperature. It was all familiar. _Bizarrely _familiar. He focused the whole array on the approximate site of the Viper beacon. However from this distance, there was nothing to show that anyone was down there. And increasing power, even at this distance, might just trigger the Dynamos.

"We're veering off. Good luck, _Endeavour_. Bring them home safely." Dietra's voice came over the comm.

"After all, Starbuck owes me twenty cubits." Jolly added.

Dayton chuckled as he watched the two fighters change course before they came within range of the Dynamos. "Thanks for the escort, Lieutenants."

"Shutting down Colonial scanners, Commander," Boomer told him, hoping Dayton's theory about the Dynamos only detecting the newer electronic signals was on the mark. With luck, the scanners from Croad's old fighter in passive mode wouldn't be detected by the Dynamos.

"Was there any detectable change in the Dynamo grid before you shut the scanners down, Boomer?" Apollo asked.

"No. They still seemed dormant, Apollo."

"Seemed," Apollo repeated uneasily as the Earth shuttle drew ever nearer to the defensive grid and the faint glow of a Dynamo became visible to the naked eye. According to the instruments, they would pass it by on their starboard side, at a range of less than fifty metrons in just under three centons. He realized after a moment, he was unconsciously holding his breath, waiting for the sudden attack from the familiar, yet different, spheroids. The last time he had been attacked by one, his ship had been disabled, and he'd ended up unconscious.

"Is that individual?" Baker asked.

"One?" Boomer squinted ahead. "Yeah, looks like it."

"What do we look for?" Dayton asked, eyes glued to his readouts. The thing had, so far, ignored both the _Endeavour_, and the passive scanners, as they had hoped. "How can we tell if they're going to attack? What are the initial signs?" He turned. "Ben? . . . I mean, Captain Apollo?" Baker snapped around to look at him, but said nothing.

For an instant, Apollo could see that Dayton had flashed back for a milli-centon, to old times and old friends. Benjamin Zuskin, his one-time crewman, and probable Silent One from Proteus. He knew the feeling, but wouldn't upset Dayton by broaching it. "Well, the first time we encountered one, Starbuck picked up elevated radion waves just milli-centons before it energized," Apollo replied.

"What wavelengths?" asked Dayton. "Uhh . . .wave_lons_?" Apollo paused in thought a moment, then recited what he remembered of his all-too-brief scanner readings. Dayton spent a few seconds mentally translating it to what he knew. "Sounds a lot like some variation on an EMP. At an enormous power level." He explained. "Knocks out solid-state electronics. Only this is more . . . selective. It has finesse, of a sort. Instead of smoking every component, it just shuts them down, with minimal damage."

"Well, it made short work of my Viper's systems," recalled Apollo. "It was so fast, there was no way I could react in time to get out of range. Subsequently, we did tweak our scanners somewhat to give us more warning time, but these Dynamos work together to trap a ship in their grid, and then . . ." He trailed off, still not sure what had ultimately happened to his friends.  
"So long, so well," Baker inserted encouragingly, as they passed the spheroid by. They held their collective breath, but the alien device remained inert, and they passed by it unharmed.

Dayton scowled at him. "Ryan put you up to this, didn't he? It's 'so far, so good', and you damn well know it!"  
Baker just looked back at him innocently, shrugging his shoulders.

They nudged the _Endeavour _into orbit, and rolled the ship over on her 'back'. Opening the cargo bay, the instruments were pointed at the planet below, as they circled it.

"We'll pass over the approximate transmission site in . . .nine minutes, mark," said Dayton.

"Uh, why do you repeat your own name that way?" asked Tone.

"Excuse me?" Dayton asked, then realized, "Oh, you mean say 'Mark'?"

"Yes. Why do you do that?"

"I'm not, actually," replied Dayton. "It's a way of mark . . .delineating time. In other words, we will pass over the transmission site in nine minutes _precisely, _counted from that moment."

"I see," said Tone, checking his own chrono, and making the minute-to-centon conversion. He watched the experts at work, oscillating between wondering how Starbuck and Lu were faring below, and his fascination with the scans the men were running. Baker was saying something about 'geo-scans', the others using the time until intercept to gather data of a purely scientific nature. From what he could make out, both the Colonial, and the more primitive Earth instruments, were revealing some fascinating, and it seemed disturbing, information about the planet beneath them.

"Okay, we'll be over them in two centons," said Baker.

"Lord of Mercy," muttered Dayton, shaking his head. "We'll be _on top _of them."

"Well, three hundred miles on top of them. Whichnever," shrugged Baker. If he heard Dayton's disgusted groan, he made no sign. But he did betray a grin at Boomer's quiet chuckle.

"Okay, now," said Dayton. On the screens on the control panel, they could see the surface, magnified by the scanners. It was a wide prairie, with mountains close by, and cut by a wide river. "I'm getting refined metal indications. Yeah, the fighters. Both of them."

"I see them," said Boomer, feeling his excitement rise as he looked at the scanners.

"What about life signs?" asked Apollo. Something a little more definitive . . .

"I'd have to crank the power up, to discriminate Human from anything else," said Dayton. "I'm keeping it all at a minimum, in case there are any surprises." He turned back to the Colonials, and said something that was, he had to admit, tough to do on _his_ ship. "Your call, Captain Apollo."

Apollo turned the pros and cons over in his mind. While they had no proof that the Dynamos worked in any other fashion, they also had no proof that they did _not._ They had been fortunate, so far. No sense in pushing it to find out now what they would ultimately find out when they landed. "No. We'll land near the site of the Vipers, rather than risk our scans being detected." He looked to Boomer. The other nodded. "Let's take her down, Commander Dayton."

"The man has spoken," said Dayton, and began working several switches. He said something to Baker, something technical in their own language the others didn't quite catch, and there was a _thump, _as braking thrusters fired, slowing their velocity.

"Alright, firing OMS engine now. Decreasing speed for atmospheric entry," Baker stated, hitting the thrust reversal, watching the instruments as their velocity fell. "Dumping remaining fuel from the forward RCS jets."

"Acknowledged," said Dayton. "Okay gentlemen, helmets and gloves on. Just in case."

"Understood," said Boomer, complying. Suddenly, an alarm sounded. "What's that?"

"SSME Hydrogen Repress," Baker answered him nonchalantly, shutting the alarm off.

"Oh, right. Of course it was." Tone replied dryly, catching Boomer's shrug of confusion.

Dayton chuckled, before explaining, "The official NASA term, 'SSME HYD REPRESS', is where the fluid lines of the Space Shuttle Main Engines are cleared out, and can cause the Master Alarm to sound, due to spikes in the hydraulic pressure. We hooked a lot of that stuff back up to the new engines. Part of the safety measures, prior to re-entry."

"I see," said Tone.

"It sounds like something from early on in Colonial history," Apollo commented.

"Well, by comparison, our stuff _is _ancient, compared to yours," said Dayton. "You must feel like we're flying an artifact."

"Mark, remember when this used to take us a good couple hours?" Baker asked.

"Yeah." Dayton replied. In the old days, they had to turn the old girl around, and fire the orbital manoeuvring system engines for about three minutes of re-entry burn. That, along with a series of S-turns creating speed brakes through atmospheric friction, significantly decreased velocity enough to allow the Earth shuttle to fall out of orbit and towards the atmosphere. Of course, back then they would be virtually out of fuel as well by now. In fact, one astronaut had compared that stage of a shuttle flight as 'flying an anvil'. "Here we go."

Apollo watched in fascination as the planet loomed ever larger. The _Endeavour_ was gradually enveloped by ever-brighter ionized gasses as she burrowed deeper into the planet's atmosphere. There was surprisingly little turbulence.

"How are you enjoying the ride, gentlemen?" Dayton asked.

"So long, so well," Boomer murmured, playing along with Baker. He shifted in his seat as flashes of light filled the flight deck. But that was better than flashes of light consuming the flight deck. And all of them.

"Don't encourage him," Dayton replied with a sidelong look at his pilot, a betraying smile hovering on his lips.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Bojay . . ."

"Let's get the frack out of here! And back to the Fleet!" Bojay exclaimed for the benefit of any enemy listeners as his heart tried to thump its way out of his chest. They had quickly sent an encoded long-range transmission to alert the _Galactica_ of their find, one from each Viper, but now their priority was to see _themselves_ safely out of range of the Cylon Base Star before any Raiders launched, and to lead any pursuers on a merry race away from the Fleet. For a quick moment, he realized that his last view of their Battlestar, while glancing back at her as he and Sheba had departed on this patrol, may well have been his last.

"Wait, Bojay! I'm picking up something on my scanner!" Sheba inserted, glancing at the edge of her field. "Adjust wavelon to 22 Delta." Whatever it was, it was big. Then a micron later it was gone. Disappearing behind the planetoid that had obscured it. "Damn!"

"That'll probably be the enemy, Sheba!" Bojay replied wryly, as his thumb paused over his turbos. "Let's go!"

"Wait!" Sheba snapped back. "Haven't you even noticed? The Base Ship, Bojay. They're not launching, not responding in any way." She swept the enemy vessel with full scanners once again. Aside from the ship itself, slowly spinning and at a heavy list in relation to their position, there was nothing. "There's still no power. None at all. No radion emissions. And her engines are cold. Barely above background. It's not a trap. Something's . . . wrong."

"Yeah, the fact that you're not listening to me, and that we're even having this conversation!" Bojay snapped back . . . then he really looked at that Base Star.

First of all, she was visibly an older model, older than he had ever seen, other than in computer modules at the Academy. Smaller almost by half, as the ship spun slowly around she appeared to be the original single layer of what had ultimately become a double-decker battleship. He glanced at his scanners; there were still no active power signatures, just like Sheba said. She was truly adrift, and bereft of any life—or as close as you could get to it with Cylons.

And there was a huge breach, ripped open from within, just to the right of one launch bay.

"Bojay!" Sheba tried again. Her heart was in her throat, staring at a capital ship that, despite its obsolescence, could potentially blow them both out of existence with a single blast of her laser turrets. She'd never been this close to one before—had never wanted to, truthfully. "She looks like an old Abaddon Class ship. They're over five hundred yahrens old!"

"Six hundred. They haven't been used in battle for well over three hundred." He replied. "She looks like she's been adrift awhile." Then with a curiosity that bordered on the insane, he turned his ship towards her. "Lords, she's in a bad way. Looks like she took a broadside from a whole armada." He pointed his ship at the damaged area, and powered up his Viper's searchlights. "Whoa! Wait here, Sheba. I'm gonna check her out."

"Not without your wingman," Sheba replied, moving into position alongside his ship, and ignoring the sigh on the comm. "Together or not at all, Bojay."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Do you _ever_ follow orders anymore, Lieutenant?"

"Was that an order?" Sheba teased him. "I thought it was a request, Captain," she chuckled, as they moved in closer. The damage to the Cylon's hull was massive. Lords, what it must look like _inside_ . . .

"Hmm . . ." replied Bojay. "Just a wild guess, but I'd say someone has been hanging around Starbuck too much."

"Me? Acting like Starbuck?" She couldn't suppress her laughter. No two people could be more different.

"You're more alike than you think." Bojay retorted.

She sniffed in amusement at the very thought. Then the flash of a laser flying past her right wing had her gasping in shock, and rolling her ship to defend it.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Must be a new record for police response time," Ryan murmured to Cassiopeia as he watched the two Black Shirts cross the Astral Lounge towards Dickins. He smiled wanly at the med tech as the IFB started recording the incident from the periphery, and then stood up, slowly pushing back from the table. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ He noticed that the politicians were following the situation with interest. Maybe too much interest, from the glint of satisfaction in Uri's eyes.

"Just calm down, sir. We want to ask you a few questions," the Security Guard told Dickins as he moved in from the right.

"That's right. Take it easy," the other replied as he flanked him on the left, momentarily kneeling down beside one of the victims, who seemed to be waking up. Slowly.

Oh, there were words coming out of their mouths, but Dickins abruptly realized that his valued friend, the languatron, had given up the ghost. Much like the louts who had insulted Cassiopeia, it hadn't survived the encounter intact, and was in more than a few pieces on the floor. Which obviously meant his final words of wisdom to the goon might as well have fallen on deaf ears. He raised his hands, backing up a pace as they approached, and used one of the only two phrases he had learned of the Colonials' most common language. "I don't speak Standard."

"Yeah, right," the Officer on the right replied as he looked to the barkeep. "What happened here?"

"I'm not really sure. He just went kind of nuts and attacked that guy. When the guy's friends stepped in to help, he went crazy on them too. Then again, he kind of arrived with an attitude. Shouting things out across the lounge in some foreign language like he was in a common bar."

The look the Security Officers turned on Dickins wasn't friendly as they approached him together, their hands resting on their weapons in a quiet threat. He could feel his body react as a cold chill went down his spine at the thought of another potential incarceration. He couldn't go through that again. Couldn't stand to be debased and abused at the hands . . .

"Jaysus Murphy!" Ryan breathed, about two tables away as he recognized that look on Dickins' face that meant he was going straight back to hell . . . at least in his mind. "Dickins! NO!" He upset the sturdy chair, heading for his friend.

The Security Officers turned as one at the disruption. It was all the distraction that Dickins needed, then the slightly built man was moving with the speed and agility of a prize fighter. In a blur, he had the first Officer on the ground, and his own Security issued weapon wedged firmly under his chin.

"I'm not going back!" Dickins spat hoarsely, his hand steady as he stared murderously into the man's disbelieving eyes. The man who would try to once again take away his liberty, his rights, everything he held dear, everything that ever really mattered . . .

Pandemonium broke loose, as women shrieked in terror and their men strove to remove them from the line of fire. Ryan weaved around dodging and retreating bodies, desperately trying to reach his friend in time.

"Drop it!" the second Officer shouted as he pointed his laser at the "madman".

"Don't shoot!" Ryan screamed as he launched himself towards the armed Black Shirt. Gripping the weapon and knocking the startled man to the floor, he rolled atop him, grappling for domination. Of course, the Security Officer was about a third of his age, and outweighed him by thirty pounds. All of it rock solid. So there was really only one way to win. Fight dirty.

Abruptly, Ryan dropped the weapon, and elbowed the other in the nose. A sickening crunch, and a gush of blood told him he'd broken it. A quick uppercut to the man's jaw, and he was out cold. You're getting too bloody old for this crap, Ryan. The physical stuff was supposed to be Dayton's gig.

"There's nowhere to go. Don't make it any worse for yourself," the Security Guard begged the madman as he saw his partner get taken down by another old fart, just like this one. What in Hades Hole was happening? An uprising from the Senior's Ship?

"Dickins! Look around! See where you are, buddy!" Ryan encouraged him. Those dark, staring eyes locked on his for an instant. They seemed to be a direct portal to Hell, as well as every kind of misery and suffering that they had lived and relived on their extended stay in the Hilton from Hell. He held them nonetheless, refusing to break eye contact and the tenuous connection he had with the troubled man. "We're on the_ Rising Star_. In the Colonial Fleet. We're going home, Dick. Home to Earth!"

"Paddy?" Dickins whispered.

"Yeah. We're out of that hellhole. Have been for sometime now. Over four months, guy! Look around, man, and see. We're already on the way home! We've travelled light-years already." He lowered his own weapon, noticing it seemed to have a calming effect on the customers. Funny thing that. "C'mon, man. Just put the gun down, Dick."

"Paddy," said Dickins, blinking rapidly, as if his brain were coming out of a fog.

"Yeah, man. It's Paddy. Now put the heater down, or I'm going to tell everyone your daughter's nickname for you." He smiled, hoping. Hoping. The inkling of a smile appeared on Dickins face as he obviously took a rare moment to think back to his wife and four kids. Paddy couldn't remember how long it had been since his friend had mentioned them aloud. Twenty years, maybe. Dickins' face and arm relaxed slightly. . .

"EVERYBODY DOWN!" Three more Security Officers swarmed the room, their weapons drawn as they moved into position.  
Dickins watched the new arrivals, surrounding him from the periphery. Getting ready to make their move. His eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. Even if he killed his prisoner, he wouldn't get away. He could use him as a Human shield though.

"Drop the weapons, or we'll be forced to fire!" Reece declared as he advanced.

"Don't fire! This is all a misunderstanding!" Ryan replied, realizing that he would probably sound a bit more convincing had he not been sitting on a bloodied, unconscious Security Guard and holding his gun. "Dickins, stand down!"

Dickins looked over at his friend, shaking his head slowly as he again took in the crowd. "I need your help, Ryan. Together we could do this." His voice was pleading.

"There's nowhere to go, Dick! All you've done is banged a few guys up. Leave it at that!" Dickins looked at him blankly, and he abruptly realized he hadn't switched back to English for his friend's benefit. He repeated himself. "These are decent people. Their laws are reasonable." Between the facts that his friend didn't speak Colonial Standard worth toot, and suffered from frequent flashbacks and depression, they'd reconcile his assault. They had to! "You're not going to prison for this."

"I beg to differ with you," The voice came over the languatron loud and clear from Sire Uri's nearby table. "He will, and I intend to see that he does. The Fleet needs to be protected from people like him. Unpredictable Earthmen who can suddenly turn on us."

Dickins turned, eyes fixed on the bald Sire. Paddy instantly realized that his friend had just crossed over a threshold. A one-way threshold. _Oh, good Lord! No!_ Then Dickins looked back at his comrade, and shook his head, his eyes glancing wildly around the room.

"I won't go back, Bex!" He shook his head again. "I won't! There's nothing you and that bastard, Torg, can do to make me go back there!" Then he raised the gun, jamming it beneath his own chin, and aiming towards the top of his skull.

"NOOO!!" screamed Paddy, arms outstretched towards the other man, as he tried to leap the distance between them.  
Dickins fired.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Run!" Starbuck hissed, grabbing Luana by the arm and pulling her to her feet. It wasn't necessary though. The flames licking at the dry grasses behind them was enough to spur her on without any extraneous encouragement.

"The waterfall!" Lu yelled, the tall grasses whipping against her as she sprinted towards the sound of cascading water. It was their best chance to avoid being incinerated. Possibly their only chance if a wildfire started.

Another Cylon laser blast, and they instinctively ducked, moving as fast as they could while staying as low to the ground as their speed permitted.

"Can Cylons run?" Luana asked, feeling a sharp sting on her face from the vegetation.

"It's not their _speed_ we worry about, it's their endurance!" Starbuck replied, looking back over his shoulder to see the sun glinting off the Cylon armour that was heading their way. Smoke was rising as the growing fire built in both intensity and breadth. "They don't get tired!"

"Don't their power cells ever run down?"

"Not that I've ever seen."

"Where are the others?" Luana asked, as she considered the Cylons that had headed off searching for Starbuck after her initial encounter when she had evaded them. She grimaced as her heart raced and she gasped in a breath. She had thought she was in excellent shape, but apparently sitting in a Viper cockpit for long centars wasn't conducive to physical conditioning. And workouts in the Fitness Centre didn't make up for the long days spent hiking and hunting on Empyrean.

"Out here . . . somewhere." Starbuck replied, also getting short of breath. The smoke was beginning to fill the air which meant one thing, the wind was behind them and fanning the flames in their direction. Hopefully, the fire would engulf a few Cylons long before it began nipping at their heels.

"Starbuck!" Luana screamed as a Cylon abruptly appeared in his path from behind a large boulder.

"Halt, Human!" ordered the Centurion. It began raising its weapon.

Forward momentum being what it was, there was little Starbuck could do but shove aside the Cylon pulse rifle that was now aimed at his chest, as he collided with the Centurion. It was worse than being body-checked by Dickins in hoverhockey as they tumbled to the ground, the noise of the weapon discharging just below his left ear almost deafening him. The Cylon, strong and unyielding, quickly gained the advantage and rolled on top. It was as if a fracking Base Star had landed on him, and the air abruptly whooshed from his lungs, as metallic armour dug into his flesh. The Cylon raised its rifle, the bayonet poised to strike down at his throat. A milli-centon later, Starbuck heard the blast of Lu's laser and the Cylon erupted in sparks. It jerked spasmodically atop him, painfully grinding him into the ground. Another blast of a Colonial weapon, and the Centurion went limp. All five hundred or so megatons of it.

"Get it off . . ." he rasped, trapped beneath the considerable weight. No little wonder the buggers were so fracking strong.

Lu pushed against the bulky, smoking Centurion, using all her strength to budge it . "It's . . . heavy," she groaned as the weight began to shift and it tumbled aside, freeing him.

"You're telling me . . ." Starbuck caught his breath, as a glint of armour appeared behind them. He fired repeatedly in that direction, at the same time struggling to regain his feet, feeling Luana's insistent hands on him from behind. The Centurion didn't stop advancing—being programmed as a killing machine—and his own instinct for self-preservation had him back on his feet in an instant, despite his body's protestations. Just as the Centurion's finger began to pull back on the trigger of its rifle, Starbuck fired. The Cylon's head ripped open in a cloud of sparks and smoke.

"Let's go!" Luana hollered in his ear, helping to steady him, but pausing to watch another Cylon death dance. Then they were heading towards the waterfall again as a wave of heat, fire and aggression pursued them.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_Nature's glory._

It was almost enough to make a man forget he was on a mission. If finally making it out of Torg's hellhole and back to civilisation—even if it came in the form of two hundred and twenty odd ships travelling through space on a quest for his precious Earth—wasn't enough to overwhelm Dayton, then this certainly was.

Landscapes that flowed one into the next, as they flew over the eerily familiar terrain, tugged at his memory and his heart. Of course, in his day, they couldn't exactly just planet hop and find anything that even remotely resembled home, never mind being able to set down and actually breathe the air. So to now find a planet so much like Earth—even with its subtle differences—was a little . . . well . . .disorienting and disturbing.

Okay, after a lifetime of watching all the various Star Treks and the endless reincarnations of that genre, he had eventually reasoned—over enough cases of beer with like-minded 'Star Philosophers'—that mankind had taken arrogance and egocentrism to a new level if they truly believed that there were several hundred planets across the universe where they could breathe, live, and thrive in an atmosphere perfectly suited to their survival, right down to the germs and the ozone. Which was probably why he was staring speechlessly at this one. It _shouldn't_ exist. Several cases of Budweiser, Coors and Miller had told him so. Then again, he hadn't ever counted on meeting Humans from other star systems either.

"I'm having trouble picking up the Viper's emergency beacon, Commander," Boomer reported as he again looked over the equipment, going through the procedures he had been taught. "Am I doing something wrong here?"

"What?" Dayton exclaimed, looking over his own readouts. "Bloody hell! It is gone!"

"Gone?" Baker asked. "Is the system depressed?"

"Depressed?" Dayton asked a little sharply. "Yeah, it just needs a little Prozac and it'll be fine! In English, Bob."

"Is the system down?" Baker repeated . . . in English.

"No. It's functioning at our end. There's no signal though. Cut off at the source," Dayton replied. He flipped switches, hit buttons, checked power levels, and when all that failed, he slammed his fist against the control panel in order to bring his rising anxiety at the thought of losing Starbuck and Luana down to a more normal level . . . about moderate. "Damn! Where the hell are you, Demitasse?"

"Commander," Tone approached the topic cautiously, knowing this wouldn't be a popular theory, even if it was legitimate. "If Starbuck and Luana were subjected to some radion poisoning . . . they might have turned the signal off thinking that there was no point in. . ."

"Hold it, mister!" Dayton snapped back. "Until we have evidence of that . . ."

"Mark . . ." Baker interrupted him, pointing to a scanner screen showing a massive infrared signature, and black smoke rising miles from their position.

"Just great. The kid's beacon stopped, so he decided to send up smoke signals," Dayton growled, praying fervently that Tone was wrong, and that Starbuck and Luana weren't down there with their skin melting off like the victims of a nuclear attack . . .

"Tone's right. It doesn't make sense that the signal would just stop," Apollo pointed out, the tension in his voice audible. "But there is another possibility."

"The Viper blew up in that fire?" Tone asked.

"No, I'm still reading the Vipers," Dayton pointed out as he glanced again at the readings. "Both still intact, as far as I can tell."

"So we're back to him turning it off. There must be another reason . . ." Boomer suggested.

"What?" Baker asked, but Boomer shook his head in response.

"Keep your eyes peeled, gentlemen, and maybe we'll find out," Dayton added as they approached the area, flying low.

"Eyes peeled?" Tone asked, with a wince.

"Stay alert," Boomer inserted. Yeah, apparently he had spent a little too much time with the Earthmen.

"Okay, we're coming in for a landing," said Dayton. "Airspeed?"

"Mach 2, and dropping,"

"Where are we putting down?" asked Boomer.

"Preferably someplace that isn't on fire, Boomer. Space shuttles react badly to brushfires."

"So do Colonial Warriors." Boomer added grimly.

"Let's get a signal back to the_ Galactica_," instructed Apollo. "Let them know what we've found."

"We'll have to use our old stuff," said Baker. "And it'll take a lot longer to get there. Your comm unit could trigger the Dynamos."

"I understand. Gamma frequency 223."

"On and transmitting," said Baker, after flipping the switches. "_Galactica, _this is _Endeavour. _Repeat, _Galactica, _this is _Endeavour.__" _ He began reciting what had occurred.

Ahead, they could see the terrain speeding by underneath them. From both the instruments and Dayton's experienced eye, they were at about 2000 feet and descending. They passed over a low range of hills, thickly covered with forest and wrapped in mist, and for just a second, he felt the tug of home again. They flew through a cloud, emerging covered with moisture. He studied the instruments again. There was a wide, flat plain, part of which had already been ravaged by fire. Out the windshield, a thick, black smoke was obscuring his view. He risked the scanners salvaged from the Arcta shuttle. The ground was smooth, with few rocks or obstructions of any sort, and there was a waterfall nearby. It they were still alive, it would make sense they would head for water, if they were able to. Powering up the engines, Dayton moved the ship over that way.

_God this is weird! Flying her like she was a plane. Who would have thought? _

"Can you see anything?" Apollo asked.

"Not with the naked eye. The smoke is covering just about everything . . ."

Then the ship abruptly lurched, and a flame erupted from the blackness below for an instant.

"That was an explosion!" Baker exclaimed.

"Ya think?" retorted Dayton, even as his chest tightened in concern.

"A Viper . . .?" Boomer hazarded.

"Yeah." Apollo added quietly, wishing he could see beyond the grey darkness.

"If they turned off that emergency beacon, they had to be alive. They'll head for water. And that's where we'll pick them up." Dayton averred. "Get ready. This could get a little rough."

"You mean there's no one down there sweeping the rocks and bird nests off the landing strip?" Baker asked.

"Or cooling down the beers in the OC." Dayton added.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander, decoding long-range transmission received from Bojay's patrol." Omega frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he awaited the decryption. "It's a Cylon Base Ship, sir!"

"A Base Ship," Adama replied. Two Vipers against a Base Ship wouldn't stand a chance, assuming the Cylon battleship had detected them. If Bojay and Sheba—two of his best pilots, he reminded himself—managed to get a jump on them, they would head into deep space, leading the Cylons as far away from the Fleet as possible. A tactic, thanks to the Cylon inflexibility and lack of imagination, that seemed to work time and time again. "Anything else, Omega?"

"That's all, Commander."

"Commander, we just lost both the Vipers on our scanners. They must have moved just beyond our scanner range." Tigh inserted, with a sidelong look at Ensign Lia who had returned to haunt the bridge, awaiting news of her sister.

"Pursuing or being pursued?" Adama posed, moving to the scan console alongside his executive officer. Sure enough, that quadrant of space now read as clear, other than the Base Ship.

"Could be, sir," Tigh replied, adjusting a control. "Sir, if they're taken prisoner . . ."

"I know, Tigh. I know." He'd have to consider moving on. He looked at the scan returns from the planet where Starbuck's patrol had gone down, and the _Endeavour _was headed. He looked at the ship's chrono, and shook his head again. The rescue team was running out of time, and they didn't even know it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Horror, shock, helplessness, confusion, Ryan wasn't sure what he was feeling as he reached Dickins' side, dropping the weapon he had been holding. He reached out tentatively, rolling his limp friend of thirty years back towards him from where he had slumped to his side after pulling the trigger. Tears welled up as he thought of the utter desperation and hopelessness that had filled the other's eyes before Dick had finished it all. But there was something wrong. Like a movie scene was being played out, despite the fact that the special effects guy had taken a terminal lunch break. Something was missing.

There was no blood, and the back of his friend's head hadn't been blow away.

"Paddy, let me in!" Cassie pushed him gently, but firmly. "Reece, get me a med team! STAT!" The Security Officer instantly made a call on his comm unit.

"What the hell . . ." Ryan murmured, not budging as he leaned over Dickins and felt for the carotid pulse . . . and found it. Instant euphoria. "He's alive! But how the. . ."

"Our weapons are routinely left on 'stun'," the Security Officer explained as he pulled himself out from under the unconscious Earthman and retrieved both discarded weapons. He checked both pistols, and showed the setting to Paddy from a distance, before holstering his own, and loosely covering Ryan with the other.

_Of course_. They dealt with _civilians_, not Cylons. And because of it, they used a setting on their guns more similar to an Earth Taser, than the usual deadly semi-automatic pistols that Ryan was accustomed to policemen carrying back home. Men like Guidobaldo and Sire Dracus seemed to be the exception in Colonial Society. These civilians were generally perceived to be a more docile breed than their Earth counterparts. It was rather quaint really.

And damn lucky for Dickins.

"But you don't usually fire them at close range," Cassiopeia inserted, as she ran gentle hands over Dickins, wishing for the first time in her career that a bio-monitor would fit in her handbag. "Point blank, right up against the body."

"No. We don't," the Officer replied, as if he hadn't really considered it. He looked across at Reece who was still on the comm.

"What happens if you do?" Ryan asked, his gaze shifting between Dickins, Cassiopeia and the cops that were all around him.

"Simply put, the blast overloads the central nervous system, like blowing out a circuit board. Usually, the result is unconsciousness. But keeping in mind that one shot can usually knock out four men at fifteen metrons, there could be some potential long term effects from this," the med tech replied. "That's what we need to monitor him for."

"Such as?" Ryan replied wearily. "Aside from death, that is." He'd seen what overdoing it with a Taser could do to someone. If the nervous system responded even remotely similarly with one of these babies. . .

"Confusion, seizure activity, decreased motor function, behavioural changes . . ." She paused, realizing she was beginning to sound more like a medical journal than a Human Being. She turned and squeezed Ryan's hand, wishing that Dayton could be here for him. For all of them. Dickins was this man's family. And how difficult was it to see your brother try to blow his brains out from mere metrons away, when you were helpless to do anything about it? "Paddy, we really won't know unle. . .until Dick wakes up. But besides all this, any man who holds a weapon to his head and pulls the trigger needs help. Psychological help."

"Or a better gun," Ryan replied quietly.

"You don't mean that!" Cassie replied, watching the emotions cross over his features. Lord's sake. Had she so markedly misjudged this man?

"Cassie, he just made a decision to kill himself. To end it all. He's going to be one pissed off guy when he wakes up to find out that he screwed it up because the friggin' gun was on the wrong setting."

"You honestly think he'd be better off dead?" she challenged him. Good God, how bad _had_ it been down there for Dayton and his men? Then a memory of the condition that the pirates' women and children had been in came to mind. She withheld a shudder.

"No . . . yes . . .well, maybe." Paddy shrugged, letting out a deep breath. Dickins hadn't exactly been a happy camper for a long, long time. At times, Ryan figured he had taken a few too many blows to the head at the mercy of Torg and Bex. But regardless, this wasn't a 'cry for help', as the shrinks used to put it. Or an attention-getting ploy that screamed 'I can't take it anymore!' or 'Look at me!'. Dick was serious about wanting to be dead. He had crossed right over that line of thinking about it, to picking the most effective way to kill yourself with a gun—at least if Martin Riggs in Lethal Weapon was correct. "The point is that he obviously thinks he'd be better off dead."

By the looks of the Security Officer that Dickins had subdued, he obviously agreed. Cassie caught his scowl, and shot the man a look that would have crumpled a Cylon's armour. After a few microns, he looked away.

"The med team should be here any centon," Reece inserted as he joined them. He glanced at Dickins. "How's he doing?"

Cassiopeia shrugged, keeping an eye on the entrance, waiting for the technical equipment that would back up her initial assessments. "He's alive." Then she looked back at Reece, "We'll transfer him to the Life Station here on the _Rising Star_ when the med team arrives."

"He'll need to be kept isolated, restrained and under guard," Reece inserted.

"Yeah, he looks dangerous, all right," Ryan replied bitterly.

"Ryan, the reason we're all here is that your friend just assaulted four men resulting in bodily harm," Reece pointed out, his tone sounding as if he were addressing the learning disabled. He spoke slower and louder. "One of them was a Security Officer, which translates to an additional charge of resisting arrest."

"Look, buster," Ryan snapped, rising to his feet, glowering at the other, "if you hadn't run in here screaming for everybody to get down and waving your gun around like Hondo and his SWAT team, then I could have talked him out of this! I know the man. I understand him!" Then a certain fat Sire came to mind. Ryan swung around, seeing both politicians busily being interviewed by the IFB reporter. He gritted his teeth, getting up to confront the bastard who had _really_ made Dickins pull the trigger.

A restraining hand grabbed him by the arm insistently, getting his full attention.

"Ryan, you're not going anywhere. You're going to be detained as well," Reece's partner, Willem, informed him. He nodded towards the bloodied Black Shirt who was only just coming around now from the blow the old astronaut had delivered to his face. "I don't know what you people did on Earth, but you can't just start fighting in a public place, and beating people senseless with no provocation in our society."

Ryan jerked his arm loose, then took an aggressive step closer to Willem, his emotions running high and needing some kind of outlet. "No provocation? Your man was about to shoot my friend. I didn't know you had another setting on your friggin' guns. And you can bet that Dickins didn't jump that guy—who outweighs him by more than two to one, by the way—for no good reason!" He resisted the incredible urge to grab a hold of the officer and shake him. "Look, bub, I need to be there for Dickins when he wakes up."

"Well, short of shooting yourself in the head on 'stun', that's not going to happen," Willem replied evenly, then nodded towards IFB cameras that had swung their way as he felt the hostility rolling off the other in waves. "Do you want the entire Fleet changing their opinion of you Earthmen, just as your Commander takes his position as official Earth Liaison Officer?"

The way the Officer maintained his cool made Ryan want to rip his tonsils out. Through his ears. If it wasn't for the grudging respect that Starbuck showed Reece and Willem after getting their help with Fausto on the _Rising Star_, he might have given in to his urge. Your lot in life, Paddy, maintaining the peace.

"It's not going to look very good on the Primary Report if you take this any further, Ryan." Willem continued to try and calm the Earthman down.

Ryan paused as the truth of his words continued to sink in. He could just see the headline, Earthmen go mad! Hell, Dayton would kill him when he found out what a mess this had turned into. He glanced back at the Sires once again. Uri was looking at him scornfully, his eyes shining with a malevolent satisfaction. Ryan squeezed his hands into fists, trying to diffuse his anger and the corresponding temptation to pull Willem's weapon from his holster and blast both Sires into next week. Or secton. Whatever. And the IFB camera with them.

"Paddy, I'll comm Porter from the Life Station. He can stay with Dickins." Cassie reassured him. "And I'll get Chameleon to find you both a Protector."

"A what?"

"Legal advocacy."

"Thanks. Hopefully, Johnny Cochran is in your phone book," Ryan replied quietly, wondering was the Colonial punishment would be for assaulting a Black Shirt. Rumour had it that the Prison Barge was already filled to capacity. Still, he had to keep in mind that here in the Fleet, as in the Colonies they came from, an accusation of murder or attempted murder, was something that they took to court within ten hours of charges being laid. Their justice was swift and decisive, whether or not they had had time to gather all the evidence. Despite his assurances to Dickins that these people's laws were reasonable, he had also heard the story about Starbuck almost being convicted for a murder he hadn't committed. Something about another pilot being gunned down with Starbuck's weapon, after the two had had a blow up. It didn't exactly fill him with confidence. He glanced at the entrance as a full medical team entered at a run.

"Let's go, Ryan." Willem told him, grabbing his arm again. "Don't give me any trouble, or I'll have to restrain you."

"Understood," he replied briskly, all out of witty comebacks for the moment. Then, as they moved towards the door, he saw Uri and Geller again, once more talking to the IFB camera. He glanced at the bald Sire, and Uri looked back. Something about the arrogant and self-serving mien of the other made Ryan want to smack him. "Well," he said instead, locking gazes with the former beautician, "That's round one for you, Uri. But one thing you don't know about us Earthlings, we usually go the full nine, unless of course, we get an early knockout."

Uri frowned before replying haughtily, "Ah, some more of your quaint Earth vernacular, Doctor Ryan. How charming . . . and utterly meaningless."

"There's going to be a rumble in the jungle, Uri! Beware the rope-a-dope. You're going down!" Ryan called over his shoulder as Willem pulled him out of the Astral Lounge. "And down is where you're going to stay! Oh, yeah!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Tears ran down his face as thick smoke enveloped him, making it hard to breathe, not to mention run, from the heat nipping at his heels. Thank the Lords of Kobol that you're used to sucking on a fumarello and breathing noxious fumes! Otherwise, all this smoke might be bad for you!

With the roar of the waterfall before them, the harsh hacking of his and Luana's coughs, the crackle of the flames behind them, and the occasional burst of a Cylon laser rifle as the Centurions spotted them through the murk, Starbuck almost didn't catch what almost sounded like a ship in the distance. Couldn't be . . .

But he definitely heard Luana's gasp as she hit the ground behind him.

"Lu!" he pivoted, dropping down beside her. "Are you . . ." he coughed as the smoke filled his lungs once again.

She nodded, her face blackened with soot, except for the dirty tracks of tears. She let him pull her to her feet as she struggled to catch her breath, feeling idiotic that she had tripped. She was usually more surefooted than the proverbial mountain caprine. Wiping at her face, she tried to steady herself, but her chest felt like it was on fire. Another wracking cough consumed her before she could gasp out, "Okay . . . I'm fine."

He pulled off her flight jacket, pushing it into her hand and pressing it lightly against her face to use as an impromptu filter, before doing the same for himself. She nodded again, this time not protesting as he gripped her hand tightly and pulled her behind him.  
It shouldn't be reassuring, but it was. The smoke would get them long before the fire if they didn't make it to the waterfall. And by the feel of the intense heat behind them, they very well might not make it. Luana coughed and sputtered again, feeling light-headed at the lack of oxygen, and marvelling how much better the self-proclaimed 'city-boy' seemed to be faring. What in Hades did they breathe in the cities of the Colonies? Carbonion monoxide?

Starbuck stumbled, righting himself again, as he forged onward towards the water source. He was purely going on sound now, his vision almost completely useless as the haze stung his eyes mercilessly. It was beginning to feel more like he was dragging Lu, then running with her, and readjusted his grip on her when he heard it again. There was that sound again. _Almost like a ship. Raiders. Out looking for us. Has to be._

_No, wait a centon_. He looked above him, trying to catch a glimpse of what was up there, but the dense smoke filled the sky, obliterating everything else But the sound . . . _That's not Cylon. The sound's not right. And__ it was sputtering.__ What the mong is it? _After a moment's thought, it reminded him of something back at the Academy, or that flying piece of felgercarb that Robber had left him with when the former Proteus Prisoner had stolen Recon Viper One.

His arm jerked, as Lu went down again, pulling free from his hand. He turned to help her up, only to find her prostrate on the ground. "Lu!" he shouted, discarding his flight jacket. Quickly, he checked her over, looking for injuries, and then rolling her over when he found none. He shook her roughly by the shoulders, trying to get her to respond. "C'mon, Lu. Wake up!."

Her eyes were closed; she was unconscious, but breathing. But for how much longer? Flames were beginning to lick at the dry grasses mere metrons away, and he could hear the whine of the Cylons as they drew closer. They had to be engulfed by flame, but it didn't seem to be slowing their advance. Yeah, it was unnerving, to say the least. He half expected them to emerge from the fiery wall of death that was following him, like demons from Hades Hole.

Easy, pal.

A little slower than he would have liked, he managed to hoist Lu over his left shoulder, staggering under her slight weight as he regained his feet. Then unbelievably, he felt a soft gust of wind hit him square in the face. The wind had shifted. He tripped and stumbled, before righting himself and again heading towards the sound of the waterfall. They might just escape the fire after all. But what about the Cylons?

Move your astrum, Bucko. First things first.

xxxxxxxxxx

"That was a warning shot! I won't be so nice next time! I'm ordering you to cut your thrusters, and surrender! Immediately!"

The warning came over the Unicom, concise and to the point. Sheba checked her rear scan, and knew in an instant she was still in his sites, even as she turned her ship in yet another evasive manoeuvre. But a niggling thought at the back of her mind made her wonder who he was. She _knew_ that voice, by the Lords. But how. . . "Virtanen?" she asked, as the voice finally clicked with the memory of a face. "By all the Lords, is that you?"

His voice cracked as he replied with equal measures of hope and uncertainty. "Sheba?"

"Bojay!" Sheba exclaimed with excitement, actually bouncing in her seat. "Bojay, did you hear him?"

"I heard him! Where's your wingleader, Virtanen?" Bojay asked, grinning ear to ear. "Primping in front of a mirror, as usual?"

"No. I'm right on your tail, Captain," came the even reply of the unmistakeably female voice. Then she added with a sassy drawl, "And I have to say, I'm enjoying the view."

Bojay snorted, checking his rear scan. "Nice flying, Roz."

"I learned from the best," she returned.

He could almost _hear_ her grin, and see those vivid blue eyes laughing at him coyly beneath thick, dark lashes. Hey, indulge yourself, Bojay! Long, black hair that flowed down her back in waves, and a figure that made most men ogle, open-mouthed and drooling . . . Yeah, it would be good to see Roz again in the flesh. He chuckled out loud at the thought. Might as well aim high.

"I take it you two have already checked out this drifting wreck?" Sheba asked.

"We have. By the looks of her, she was destroyed yahrens ago," Roz replied. "She's got that huge hole in her that looks as though she exploded from internal problems, but I can't see any indication of why. The rest of her appears intact, and not even battle scarred. As though she wasn't even used in the War, and had some kind of other purpose. I sure wish we could board her and take a look around."

"Not without the right equipment, we can't," Bojay replied. "She doesn't have any gravity, or life support, according to the scanners."

"We could probably enter the landing bay safely enough," Sheba suggested. "Just to take a look around."

"I think the risk outweighs any possible benefit, Sheba." Bojay replied reasonably. Yeah, it would be useful to figure out what had happened to the Base Ship, but it might not even be relevant at this point in time. Besides . . .

"Agreed." Sheba nodded, checking her scanner. "Okay, Virtanen, I picked up a blip on my scanner, heading 22 Delta. Was that the . . ."

"Yes, it's the _Pegasus_. Oh, and we have a standing order from Commander Cain if we ever run into you, Sheba, to take you back home. Apparently, you're late for dinner," Roz teased her.

"Bojay . . ." Torn between reporting back to their own base ship, and seeing her father, Sheba appealed to her friend and wingleader.

"I'll send another encrypted message to the _Galactica_." Bojay replied, doing so. "I'm sure Commander Adama will understand when he hears that we're rendezvousing with Cain, and that the Cylon threat isn't quite what we thought it was."

"How is my father?" Sheba asked, feeling the excitement well up inside of her.

The hesitation was slight, but noticeable. "He's okay, Sheba."

"Just okay?"

"We've seen a lot of action since we left the Fleet. We've lost some good people." Virtanen replied evasively. "Sustained a lot of damage . . ."

"You had a skeleton crew when we left for the _Galactica_ as it was." Bojay responded. "Most of your pilots were transferred to the Fleet."

"Some of us damn near mutinied, to stay," added Roz. "Others were on Bridge rotation. I personally had problems with my ship. So did Virtanen, oddly enough. Damn engines just wouldn't fire up when we were given orders to launch. We had to stay." She sounded rather pleased about it.

"And a handful of other Vipers were being repaired, and hadn't been given the final authorization from the flight crew for action. A real shame." The tone of his voice said otherwise.

"Well, your Viper looks like it's seen better days," observed Sheba. Virtanen's ship looked like it could use a paint job and a scrub, at the very least.

"Yeah, well, the _Pegasus_ has certainly seen better days too. She needs some furlon in a big way," Virtanen admitted.  
"And so does her crew," Roz added.

Sheba frowned. It didn't sound like the ship of dedicated and driven warriors she had worked with for yahrens. Something wasn't right. She turned her ship on that heading, feeling an uneasiness sweep over her. "Take us home."

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton grinned as the low-flying _Endeavour_ broke through the wall of smoke. Immediately below them, about 500 feet or so, a group of what could have been Cylons was moving steadily forward, also towards the waterfall.

"Holy crap! Walking trash cans!" Baker exclaimed. "Did you see that?"

"What?" Apollo asked anxiously.

"Cylons, Captain." Dayton replied, as his stomach lurched even more at finally encountering the Colonials' ancient enemy in action, than it had on launch. "At least I think they were Cylons. About half a dozen, I think. I barely got a glance at them before we flew over." He reached over, and adjusted a control. The scan was replayed for the Colonials.

"Cylons!" Tone burst out. "What in Hades Hole are _Cylons_ doing here? I thought we left them behind sectars ago."

"Well, that would explain Starbuck turning off his emergency beacon. He didn't want us flying into a trap." Boomer nodded, blowing out a relieved breath.

"Just goes to show that we can't get too complacent," Apollo returned. "Something a few ex-bureauticians don't seem to understand. Better send another message to the _Galactica_ and let them know about the Cylon presence."

"Gamma frequency?" Baker verified.

"You got it." Apollo agreed. "We can't risk those Dynamos turning against us now. Any sign of Starbuck and Luana in all that?"  
"Trouble being that there's a whole lot of beige waving around down there, and still a lot of smoke covering it," Dayton replied. Of course, his eyesight wasn't exactly what it used to be either. "I'm going to circle round, and pass over again, then take her in for a landing regardless."

It was a kick to be able to say it, not to mention do it. Of course, the last time the _Endeavour_ had landed on a planet—Earth, of course—it had been gliding to a landing without power, as per usual. A glorified flying brick. With wings. Now, not only could he fly her like an average space-age jet, provided he didn't get too fancy, but he could take off again and clear the planet's orbit. You've come a long way, baby!

He loosened his death grip on the stick, realizing it had indeed been a long time since he had done this. He watched the radar altimeter as their altitude dropped until it seemed the tops of the tallest grasses would be sweeping her underside.

"I see them!" Baker exclaimed pointing off to their right. "Starbuck's carrying Lu over his shoulder. They're heading for a waterfall! Almost there, it looks like. Maybe. . .a couple score metrons to go. C'mon, Starbuck! You can make it! We're here, kid!"

"That'll place them about a quarter mile from where we intend to set down," Dayton remarked, steadying his grip and wondering if he should try and get closer.

"That'll be fine," Apollo inserted. "We don't want the _Endeavour_ anywhere near Cylon pulse rifles. Her hull wasn't designed to be under enemy fire."

"You can say that again." Baker murmured.

"Her hull wasn't designed . . ." Dayton did the honours.

"Shut up, and take her down, Commander." Baker replied.

xxxxxxxxxx

Starbuck instinctively ducked as he looked up at the sound of the ship flying not far above him, wondering if it was about to set down on top of them. He was shocked to see something surprisingly familiar flying low over the field. The _Endeavour_ . . .?  
But he had no time to ponder what the old Earth relic was doing here, or even how the thing could fly all of a sudden. He turned to look behind them, then moved forward, his left foot coming down in a hole. He lost his balance, then felt a sickening crunch as his left ankle twisted, and his body kept on going, lurching to the side. He cried out in agony as he tumbled to the ground, coming down hard on his left leg, Lu landing on top of him. For a selfish moment, he let the pain wash over him as he gripped his boot with both hands, his face a rictus of agony.

Idiot!

He couldn't believe it. A phalanx of Centurions on his astrum, and his unconscious fiancée over his shoulder, and he wipes out! Yeah, just when you thought it couldn't get any worse. Frack! Frack! Frack!

He knew, from the pain, that he'd broken his ankle. He took several steadying breaths before rolling Lu towards him, again checking her breathing. She was still with him. He twisted around, trying to catch sight of his pursuers. He could hear them coming his way, their whining drone getting louder and louder. Clenching his teeth, he climbed to one knee, easing Luana back into position over his shoulder. There was no real choice and he knew it as he grunted and climbed to his feet. The pain was terrible, but what choice did he really have? It should be tolerable until the swelling set in. And if the Goddess Fortuna was on his other shoulder, she would see him safely aboard the Earth shuttle long before that happened.

"Halt, Human!"

_ Zing!_

He ducked as he lunged forward again, gritting his teeth, and pushing on. Escape was so close he could taste it. And smell it. It had just never occurred to him that it would come in the form of an archaic piece of felgercarb from Earth.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

While the landing hadn't exactly been up there on Dayton's top ten list, at _least_ they were all in one piece. They had come in so damned hot the alarm had started screaming, telling him he was about to rip the wings off if he didn't correct his angle, and throttle back. He managed, and with an ease he would never have dreamed of from the old girl, he brought the _Endeavour _around, and made for a flat area of ground. Much to his—and his heart rate's—relief, the landing gear dropped without a hitch, and firing braking thrusters, he came to rest on solid ground for the first time in thirty years, the ship rolling to a stop.

"Okay, we're down," he declared, as he and Baker went through the post-landing procedures. They continued as Apollo and Boomer tore out of their seats, heading for the hatch before the shuttle had even come to a full stop. Before anything else, they needed to do some readings to see if the radion emissions being detected on the planet had left a mark. Their suits would protect them against such emissions, but Starbuck and Luana were totally unprotected. Tone followed once the shaking and rocking stopped, a little less enthused about being tossed around the flight deck.  
"I don't believe it." Apollo muttered as he studied his portable scanner.

"Nothing. Not a trace of lingering radion levels." Boomer checked his own. "That doesn't make much sense, considering the wavelons they were reading from the _Galactica_."

"No, but it gives Starbuck and Luana a much better chance of making it out of this alive." Apollo replied, calling back to the others, "Looks good, Dayton! We'll be right back. Be ready to take off!" He pulled off his helmet and grabbed his weapon, before jumping through the hatch with Boomer on his heels. The captain slid down the hastily rigged automatic emergency egress slide that prevented them from having to jump almost four metrons to the ground. No sense in breaking their ankles before they even got started. Dayton would secure the light collapsible stairwell that would enable them to get back up.  
They had seen where Starbuck was heading, and the lieutenant couldn't have missed them coming in, so would alter his course when he saw where they landed. If Apollo's estimation was right, they _should_ run right into him. If it was wrong, they'd run right past him through tall grasses dotted with strange purple flowers that had to be three metrons high.

They poured on the speed, letting Tone—who was lugging a med kit—fall behind. A half a dozen Cylons were on Starbuck's tail, and this time he was carrying an injured woman after sucking in enough smoke to slow down even the fittest of men. He needed help now.

The sound of a pulse rifle pierced the air, and Apollo veered to the right, brushing aside the foliage that acted as both shield and obstacle. Another blast and he grunted with exertion, his heart pounding against his chest as he tried to close the distance between them. Then the distinct sound of a Colonial blaster answered the others. Starbuck was returning fire.

Somehow, he expected no less.

"Boomer! Circle round!" Apollo cried, pointing to the left, as he took the right with the intent of flanking the enemy. He dashed across the first hundred metrons, and then slowed down slightly, and then drastically when he heard the drone of the Centurions. He moved cautiously forward, as he spied the glint of their metal through the vegetation.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander, I'm picking up activity from the Dynamos," Athena reported, eyes on her scanner. "We're getting movement." Ensign Lia was at her station in an instant, her eyes pouring over the readouts.

"Movement?" Adama asked, moving down from the Command level of the Bridge.

"The entire network, Father, has started shifting position," Athena explained as she plotted the almost negligible change.

"Is there any kind of pattern to it?" Tigh asked, joining them. "Are the movements coordinated in any way?"

Athena changed screens, plotting the variation and combining both patterns on a graph. The computer crunched on the numbers for a few microns. "They're moving so incredibly slowly, it's difficult to tell at this point, Colonel. Mainly, the ones from the north and south poles seem to be converging towards the others."

"How slowly? Can you be more precise?"

"It's. . .approximately two point. . .oh one metrons per micron, Colonel." She punched a few controls, shaking her head. "Impossible to be more precise at this range, sir."

Adama arrived, and leaned forward, also studying the data. "Is there any change in their emitted radion wavelons?"

"No, sir. They don't seem to be emitting any energy. They're just . . ." she shrugged, "moving."

"Another phase in the planet's formation?" Tigh asked.

"Possibly. But does the network continue to function as a defence system?" Adama posed. If the defensive network was inactive, they would be able to contact their rescue team about the Cylon threat and get them back to the Fleet with due haste.

If not. . .

"We could send in one of Dr. Wilker's PMU's, Commander. They triggered the Dynamos' energy blast at the pirate asteroid successfully, and I understand he's made some improvements since then." Tigh suggested. Programmable Mobile Units with the additional benefit of a short-range transmitter that could more meticulously control repair or maintenance functions, they had been based on back-engineered Cylon technology as Wilker continued to study Baltar's pilots in his lab. No longer did the Colonials need to send out valued warriors, entrusting their lives to safety lines while spacewalking, or even worse, opting not to, in the case of Starbuck and Apollo during the fire on the _Galactica_.

"Good idea, Tigh. Contact Dr. Wilker, and see if he has an operational unit."

"Yes, sir."

"Commander, another encoded message from Bojay's patrol!" Omega reported. "Sir, the Cylon threat is obsolete. The Base Ship is suspected to have been wrecked yahrens ago! She's adrift and without power!" He punched up the vid scan, from Bojay's telemetry. Sure enough, the Base Ship looked like someone had ripped her a new landing bay. Adama had Omega transfer the image to all screens.

A cheer went up on the Bridge at the news. Adama nodded in relief. As much as he had insisted to the Council that the Cylons were an ongoing threat despite the many sectars that had passed without encountering them, he had been as disheartened as anyone else that his prediction had been validated.

"Good news, Adama," Tigh stated with a relieved smile.

"Indeed." Adama agreed. The rescue mission could go ahead as planned without its timetable being affected. He wouldn't have to even consider leaving his son . . . or the others, behind in an effort to flee the Cylons. He turned towards Ensign Lia. "Why don't you get some rest, Ensign?"

"Please, sir, I'd rather stay," Lia replied earnestly.

He nodded, certainly understanding her need. Yet, it was rewarding to see some of the worry erased from her features now that the threat of Cylons had been eliminated. _Still, those Dynamos…_

Omega put his hand to his headphone in the din as he struggled to hear the incoming message and simultaneously decrypt it on his equipment. His eyes went wide and he grinned joyously as he read the second message. "Commander, further to that, Bojay's patrol has rendezvoused with Vipers from the _Pegasus__!" _He held his breath a moment, as if he could barely believe what he was hearing. "They've found Commander Cain!"

"Cain?" Adama shook his head incredulously. And for Sheba, of all pilots, to be a part of that discovery . . . He paused as he noticed Ama storm onto the Bridge, looking slightly more respectable in traditional Council robes with her usually wild hair tied back from her face. Her eyes were trained on him and she looked at him expectantly.

"They'll rendezvous with the _Pegasus_, and report back ASAP, Sir." Omega informed him.

"Very well, Omega. I'll be in the my quarters." He gestured for Ama to proceed him there. "Colonel, you have the Bridge."

"Yes, sir."

"And notify me of any further change in the Dynamos, or communications from Commander Dayton or the _Endeavour_."

"Yes, Commander."

xxxxxxxxxx

Tolerable, huh? Well, apparently what _used_ to be tolerable was considerably _less_ so now. Each step was excruciating, and with the weight of Luana on Starbuck's shoulder, it was even worse. Sweat poured off him, and the repeated jarring crunch of his ankle bones was making him want to toss his mushies. Still, he knew the Cylons were right behind him, and it was only the concealing screen of vegetation that stood between them and his astrum. He leaned up against a boulder almost as tall as him, taking the weight off his foot for a moment, as his chest rose and fell like a bellows in hyperdrive. Strangely, the weight hurt as much coming off his foot as going on. That just seemed wrong somehow. Just a micron's rest, Bucko. You deserve at least that.

The searing heat of a laser blast just about singeing the hair off the his head made him duck, and it also propelled him on around the huge rock. They were too close. He was going to have to make a stand. He was not going to be taken captive as he had on Attila, especially if it meant Luana was to be taken too. There was no fracking way in Hades Hole that he was going to let _her_ fall into Cylon hands. No way, knowing as he did what Cylons did to their prisoners. Even if she was apparently having second thoughts about their 'happily ever after' . . .

Maybe that sudden memory of their argument was why he seemed to dump her unceremoniously on the ground. Or maybe it was because it hurt too damn much to lower her down gently. Either way, that boulder was going to be his defensive stronghold . . . or the closest thing he could get to it in a field of waving, purple flowers.

Using the boulder for support as well as a shield, he circled back around. He gasped in alarm, firing off a shot at point-blank range as he came face to face with another Cylon where the boulder jutted out. The Centurion's chest exploded in a cloud of sparks, and it staggered precipitously, its weapon still pointing his way. He fired again, at the same time flattening himself face first against the boulder and groaning as the resulting final blast of the disabled Centurion's pulse rifle came alarmingly close to broiling his astrum. Then it tumbled to the ground in a thrashing heap.

That was when the coughing fit hit him. Tears pricked his eyes, and his stomach reeled as he rested his head against the boulder until the hacking eased. With that racket, he might as well just fire off a flare announcing to the Cylons, here we are! They'd be circling around, and getting ready to surround him by now. For a milli-centon he considered going back and ending it all for Lu. It would be the decent thing to do. Ama would understand. Still, there was some measure of hope, however faint, that help might arrive in time if he could hold them off. Besides, he knew he didn't have it in him. He couldn't shoot Luana, anymore than he could shoot himself. He didn't have the nerve. Some people called it a will to survive, but he knew it by its real name. Fear. And it was choking him now, making it feel as though there was a battlestar resting on his chest, as he shakily raised his weapon once again while the drone of his mortal enemies drew ever closer.

Then the sound of laser fire seemed to fill the air, and he startled, trying to visualize the crossfire that he was certain he was hearing. Those were Colonial weapons! The cavalry—as Dayton put it—had arrived.

"Starbuck!" Apollo's voice called out a centon later. "Where are you?"

"Here!" he replied, turning back to check on Lu, but one more step on his abused ankle, was one too many. The pain was too much. He grunted through clenched teeth as he dropped his weapon, desperately gripping the boulder to stop his fall.  
Then supporting arms were around him, guiding him gently to the ground. Apollo looked down at him in concern, quickly checking him over, and looking for any signs of advanced radion sickness. "Tone! Over here!" he shouted, then turned back to the lieutenant, whose entire body was blackened with smoke, his face covered with streaks of grime, and his hair singed. "You okay?" he asked uncertainly.

"Me? Just fine," Starbuck hissed, as pain ripped through his leg. "Never better, old buddy. Why would you ask?"

He couldn't help the grin that ambushed his face This was not a man dying of radion poisoning. "Starbuck!"

"I broke my fracking ankle!" He admitted in disgust. "Falling! Can you believe it?" Starbuck cringed, as the fact that he had probably been taken out by some burrowing rodent came to mind. Then he frowned as he took in Apollo's spacesuit, remembering that he had arrived in the Earth Shuttle. He nodded back towards where he had left Luana. "Lu . . ."

"I'll get her," Boomer said, seemingly appearing from nowhere, as he raced by them.

"Help me up!" Starbuck insisted.

"Wait for Tone to check you out," Apollo replied, as the med tech appeared out of the tall grasses, and kneeled down beside them.

"Tone!" Boomer called out urgently from metrons away.

"Be right back," Tone told the captain with a quick glance at Starbuck, as he quickly moved to the others.

"Which ankle?" Apollo asked, trying to take his friend's mind off what was happening just beyond them. He grabbed the discarded Colonial laser lying a metron away, and made to shove it into his own holster, suddenly remembering the spacesuit wasn't equipped with one.

"Left," Starbuck replied, wincing and holding back a yell as Apollo touched his boot, apparently considering whether or not to remove it. "Leave it," he grunted.

Apollo nodded. At least it was acting as a crude splint for now. He handed Starbuck's weapon back to him. "Dayton and Baker are waiting about five hundred metrons due south."

Starbuck's eyes opened wide in surprise as he holstered the laser. Dynamos, Cylons, the _Endeavour_, and now Dayton. He'd had his share of surprises this day. "Dayton? You let him fly? And that . . .relic?"

Apollo sniffed at the reaction. It was exactly how the rest of them had responded when Dayton had suggested his plan. "The _Endeavour_ was the only ship that the Dynamos wouldn't detect. Too fracking old to be of consequence, I guess. And Dayton is her commander."

"Speaking of 'too fracking old', how did he do?" Starbuck asked, his eyes darting towards where he left Luana.  
"Great. He still has the touch and instinct. Amazing considering how long it has been since he flew, other than those simulations you ran him through. I'll wager he could give us a run for our cubits in a Viper," Apollo replied, following his friend's gaze. "Okay, Bucko, how bad is Luana?"

"She passed out when we were coming through the smoke. I had to carry her." Starbuck replied, low and measured, shaking his head slightly as he began to cough again.

"You both must have breathed in a lot of smoke." Apollo studied him for a moment, wondering about inhalation burns, which often weren't symptomatic early on. Luana almost certainly had one if she had lost consciousness in the fire. "How's your breathing?"

"I'm fine!" He waved off the other's concern. "I just busted my ankle." He glanced up as Tone hurried back. "How's Lu?"

"Stable." Tone replied. "She's on life mask therapy, and Boomer's carrying her back to the shuttle. No signs of radion contamination." He pulled out his biomonitor, aiming it at Starbuck's ankle as both warriors pointed to it. "It's broken."

"How about that." Starbuck muttered, raising an eyebrow and looking at Apollo, who smiled in return. "Keep up the good work, kid. You have a career in medicine waiting for you. _Ahhhh!__"_ he jumped, as Tone squeezed his boot just a little _too_ hard. Of course, at this point, just someone looking at it hurt.

"We can mend it back on the _Galactica_," Tone replied, knowing they didn't have the time now with wildfires and Cylons encroaching upon them. He moved his medical scanner over the lieutenant, paying particular attention to his chest. The tissue damage was incidental according to his scan. "Not a trace of radion, and his chest is surprisingly good," he said in surprise, nodding at a very relieved looking captain as he pushed the lieutenant on his side to assess the charred mark down his right flank. "Nothing some medicated inhalation therapy and a regeneration treatment can't take care of, Lieutenant."

"So a steady intake of foul, toxic fumes from early on apparently pays off," Apollo grinned at his friend.

"Hey, I told you they were good for me, contrary to popular belief," Starbuck replied. "Not to mention a great prop for cards."

"Yeah, right. And sometimes a fumarello is _just_ a fumarello." He nodded at Tone who was dosing the downed warrior with a hypospray. "Can we move him?"

"Yes, other than some minor burns on his . . ."

"Then let's get out of here!" Starbuck interrupted. "I've had enough of nature for one day, with its flaming fields liberally dappled with waving purple, laser rifle toting Cylons." Apollo looked at him strangely for a moment. "What?"

Apollo glanced at Tone, nodding towards the hypospray. Waving purple Cylons? "How much of that did you give him?"

Tone smirked. "Maybe a bit too much?"

"Maybe," Apollo nodded. He propped himself under Starbuck's left shoulder, adding ruefully as he felt his friend suddenly tense up at what was to come, "Ups-a-daisy." Tone supported his other side, and they pulled him to his feet.

"Ohhh," Starbuck groaned, as blood rushed to his foot, making it throb with a new intensity despite the analgesia. "Frackin' Hades Hole . ." he hissed through his teeth.

"Move, Lieutenant!" Apollo ordered him, raising his weapon to cover them, should any more Cylons suddenly appear. Another groan of pain from his friend, as they stepped forward, "Lean on me, Starbuck, and keep your weight off that foot! Believe me, buddy, I don't want to carry you, but I will if I have to."

Yeah, Starbuck could just imagine Dayton's face as he arrived at the _Endeavour_ cradled in Apollo's arms. He'd never live that down. "Right!" he gasped, as they hurried forward.

xxxxxxxxxx

"_Once again, the top story on tonight's IFB Primary Report, Earthman, Captain Richard Dickins, was arrested by Colonial Security following a reportedly unprovoked attack on three off-duty_ Rising Star _employees. All three victims have been released from Life Station, and confirmed that they intend to press charges for what one witness called "a brutal and uncalled for display of unrestrained savagery from an unpredictable and base people". Captain Dickins is currently in Life Station, following a violent self-inflicted injury which succeeded the incident. In addition, Doctor Patrick Ryan, also of Earth, was arrested for assaulting a Security Officer when he tried to prevent the crazed man's arrest_."

Adama sighed as he turned up the volume on the monitor, glancing again at Ama as she made herself comfortable pouring them both a drink. For a brief moment, it crossed his mind that he hadn't seen her actually reach for the decanter.

_How does she do that?_ Smoke and mirrors? He watched the subtle smile playing on Ama's lips as he changed his demeanour from one of irritation, to one of inquisitiveness. For the moment.

"The IFB tried to contact Commander Mark Dayton, recently appointed to the Council as Earth Liaison Officer. It appears that Commander Dayton is unavailable for comment, but a former member of the Council of Twelve had this to say. . ."

Sire Uri filled the screen.

"This just goes to show how unpredictable and dangerous these strangers from Earth can potentially be, my fellow citizens. In their questionable wisdom, the newly elected Council has appointed the leader of these men to a position of influence. It pains me to see a formerly respectable office being occupied by such a man."

"But surely, Sire Uri, the actions of two of his former associates aren't necessarily reflective of Commander Dayton's own character?" Zara asked. _"__Everyone is an individual, after all.__"_

"_It has been brought to my attention that Commander Dayton has been __. . .__well, associating, with a young woman who formerly held the designation of _. . .Socialator." He paused, as his features tightened contemptuously. "I think that really says it all about the man's moral fibre."

Zara's features took on an almost feral appearance. "Undoubtedly, the Fleet would be interested in knowing such things about a man that we have all come to trust and respect immensely. Especially, since he has now been appointed to a position of some importance, Sire Uri."

Adama let out a short angry breath, shutting off the monitor. His lips tightened into a thin line as he accepted the glass she placed in his hands.

"This. . .this utter garbage, from the man who very nearly got us all killed at Carillon! The utter. . .gall of that man!"  
"Indeed. Down the hatch," she offered, before raising the glass to her lips and taking a generous sip while she allowed him to compose himself. "Ahhh! Not bad, Adama."

"Do you know what happened? What _really_ happened, Ama?" he forged on, pausing as she stared at him patiently, and then pointedly down at his full glass. He nodded, and slowly took a sip of his ambrosa.

"Somewhat," she smiled. "Chameleon visited Ryan in his quaint little cell in the Security Office on the _Rising Star_. Ryan said that Dickins was baited by the men at the bar, and then by Sire Muck himself. It sounds as though the pretentious old git is trying to defame our Earth Liaison Officer, Adama." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "And our newly elected Council of Twelve by association."

"How is Chameleon handling all this?"

"Obviously, it's difficult." Ama shrugged. "Once again he finds himself called upon to aid his friends, when his mind is prevalently on his son. I wish we had some news for him. I'm sure that you can relate."

Adama nodded. How often had he sent his own children into battle, wondering if he would see them again? He sighed as he thought back to Zac. So very young. . . too young.

"It sounds as though Uri has enlisted Sire Geller's help." Ama said, as if to remind him what they were discussing.  
He really didn't have time to deal with this right now. Adama took another drink, considering his options. He had thought that his days of sparring with Sire Uri were over. How wrong he was. Then he noticed a peculiar look on Ama's face as she waited for him to . . . to do or say what? "I get the idea that you know what Sire Uri is up to, don't you, Ama?" he asked. She was silent a moment, her eyes meeting his. "Ama?"

"Of course. I recognize the beast within the man. You do too, Adama," she replied matter-of-factly. "The answer is within you, my friend. Reach out and feel it. Embrace it." She laid a hand over her heart. "From here."

He sniffed, his lips quirking. For a moment, he was going to dismiss her. . .her mystical utterances. But, as part of his mind assimilated her words, it came to him. Like a light going on, it all seemed so clear. Before he could do more than take a breath, she smiled.

"Yes, you see it, Adama. I told you, the truth more often than not lies within. You need but reach for it." Then she grinned widely, her gap-toothed smile startling him as it almost always did in a face that was beginning to look half ways respectable. "And if you still can't find it you can always ask me again."

"It's me he wants," said Adama, revelation washing over him. "He plans on somehow using Dayton and the other Earthmen to undermine me. Dickins and Ryan have nothing to do with it. They're simply pawns."

"He's not that fond of me either, dear heart." She chuckled in wry amusement. Uri had come from aristocracy. He was a blueblood who, while he had apparently done some worthwhile deeds in his younger yahrens, had been riding on his earlier accomplishments for a good long time since. Ama remembered his scathing remarks when she had been elected to the Council of Twelve. He had referred to her as a 'primitive witch' who was now 'stirring a cauldron of another kind'. She had ignored it at the time, knowing he wasn't worthy of her attention. However, now . . . "He would destroy you if he could, Adama," said Ama, face deadly serious. "And everything you've done for us. He would set us on a disastrous path of his own design. This, I know to be true."

"I must stop him," said Adama, not doubting her for a centon. Then, it occurred to him for a micron that he had come to believe in the word of this woman perhaps a little too readily. However, while she had admitted more than once to having a certain amount of ego and even her own agenda, she had always proven herself to be concerned with the good of her people—their people—above all else. She was a proven ally and friend.

"I mean you no harm, surely you realize that by now."

For a moment he simply stared into her grey eyes, realizing she had read his mind. Much like Count Iblis had at another time, and she made no attempt to hide it. Yet with Ama, he only sensed goodness and light. Still, it unnerved him. "I do." He replied simply, before returning to the matter at hand. "How? How do we stop him?" Truthfully, he had stopped following the goings on of Uri when the man had seemingly graciously retired from the bureaucratic arena. "I can't openly. . ."  
"I'll handle him, Adama." Ama placed a hand on the Commander's wrist. "After all, Council needs to rebut the Sire's statement." Then she smiled, and chuckled quietly. "Besides, I have a braw idea."  
From the glint in her eye, Adama knew he'd like it. He just wasn't sure she should tell him what it was.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Holy frack . . ." Bojay muttered.

Sheba didn't say it _aloud,_ but she agreed with her wingleader. The _Pegasus_ looked as though she had been used for target practice by an armada of Cylon Base Ships. Battle scarred from bow to stern, with blackened, jagged, gaping holes in parts of her hull, and the starboard landing bay a twisted, gnarled husk, the lieutenant barely recognized her.

_What the Hades Hole is holding her together? The will of Cain?_

"Something you meant to mention?" Sheba asked Roz and Virtanen, impressed that her voice sounded so calm while her chest hitched with horror.

"A visual _is_ worth a thousand words," Virtanen replied, no humour in his tone. "Or so they say."

"We took on a Base Ship about two sectars ago, Sheba. We were prospecting for tylium in an asteroid field orbiting an unstable star, and they jumped us. It was hard fought and lasted four centars. We destroyed it finally, but their fighters almost destroyed _us_ in return. Several of them tried to ram us when their Base Ship went up." Roz told them. "Four of them got through. It took days for the fires to get under control. Forty percent of the ship is still sealed off, exposed to space, or bereft of life support."

"Casualties?" Sheba asked.

"We lost Colonel Tolen. Quite a few others," Roz replied quietly. "These two Vipers are our last. Assembled from spares in ship's stores."

Tolen was always three steps away from Cain, living comfortably in his shadow. At times, it was easy to forget that the man was actually an executive officer, and not just another in a long list of subordinates receiving orders from the Juggernaut. However, if Cain was in his usual place on the Bridge when Tolen was killed . . .

"Give it to me straight, Roz. How's my father really?" Sheba asked, almost dreading the answer. "And I mean _reall_y."

"He was injured along with Tolen. A blow to the skull from flying debris. We think he threw some kind of blood clot to the brain. He's not the same Sheba."

"What?" Sheba asked, voice rising incredulously. "But we have treatments for that! Blood clots can be dissolved, tissue damage can be repaired in a regen. . ." She broke off, looking once more at the savaged _Pegasus. _Finding the area where Life Station ought to be. . .

"Oh God," whispered Bojay.

"The extent of the fires was massive, Sheba. We lost the Life Station. Dr. Eco and the staff were . . ." Her voice wavered. ". . . they were trapped. They lost life support and the life masks ran out of air long before we could get to them."

"Commander Cain went untreated?" Bojay asked in disbelief.

"Basic first response treatment with emergency supplies was all we could offer. It was all we could offer any of them," Virtanen said defensively. "Out of the entire medical staff, only med tech Zeb survived—he was attending to the injured on Delta Deck at the time—along with some very basic medical supplies. That's it."

"How bad is Cain?" Bojay asked again.

"The right side of his body has some paralysis . . ." Virtanen began.

"But that's not all . . ." Roz continued.

"Tell me!" Sheba snapped. _No, dammit! I will not show fear! I will not shed tears__ . . ._

"It's like he's . . .well, like he's not all there, Sheba, if you know what I mean. Oh, we still see glimpses of his tactical brilliance. That fabulous military mind. But he's acting like nothing's wrong. Like the _Pegasus_ is as battle worthy as ever. We're working double shifts just to keep this wreck moving through space, and he still expects that we're going to decimate the next Base Ship that comes along." Roz's voice cracked. "And he's obsessed with finding Baltar. He was sure the ship we detected was him. You don't know how relieved we were to discover that Base Ship was a derelict."

"Yeah, after all, he launched two full squadrons to intercept it," Virtanen added, his voice brittle.

"Two full squadrons?" Bojay asked. "Come again? I thought you said these were your last two fighters?"

"Yeah, I'm Silver Spar, and Virtanen is Bronze Wing. You didn't have a chance, Bo." Roz replied bitterly at the absurdity of it. "Not only did we sneak up on you two, we outnumbered you two squadrons to two Vipers, and you didn't even know it." A hollow laugh followed her words.

"Holy frack," Bojay replied, shaking his head dumbly.

"I can't believe it," Sheba whispered. So many sectars had passed since the _Pegasus_ had disappeared while taking on three Cylon Base Ships. While she had tried to maintain some measure of hope that her father and old shipmates were out there still, the discovery of Dorado and Rooke on the pirate asteroid, not to mention the unfortunate Ensign Szabo—proof positive that the _Pegasus_ had survived—had nearly knocked her on her astrum. She'd spent many a centon since then imagining a joyful reunion with the Juggernaut. But now this. It was as though the universe was playing a cruel and despicable joke on her.

Then the Unicom came to life.

"This is the Bridge. Looks like you've picked up a couple strays, Silver Spar Leader. Identify." The message was a strange mixture of casual yet brisk.

"This is Silver Spar Leader, Bridge," Roz returned. "The Cylon Base Ship turned out to be wrecked. A derelict, thank the nine Lords of Kobol and all of the assorted demi-Gods. But what we did find was Sheba and Bojay from the _Galactica_ nosing around it too."

There was a hesitation, and then, "Sheba?" Cain's voice was tremulous.

"Father!" Sheba replied, her joy at hearing his voice, overcoming her trepidation.

"You're overdue, Lieutenant." Cain replied, an edge of what might have been humour to his voice. "You're cleared for Alpha landing bay. I'll see you there." Then another pause. "Welcome home, baby."

"Yes, father . . ." Sheba replied tentatively as she stared once again at the abomination that had once been the starboard landing bay. She switched off Unicom. "Roz?"

"Beta bay, Sheba. Follow us in."

xxxxxxxxxx

How deep in despair did a man have to be before he decided to blow his head off? And why couldn't his best friends see it coming?

Ryan sat up on the tiny bunk in his cell, glancing at his watch once again as he tried to get his mind off the horrifying image of his friend trying to kill himself. Chameleon had promised that he would be back to report on Dickins' condition. He was also arranging for a lawyer to try and spring him from the slammer. Or whatever it was they called ambulance chasers around here. Apparently, assault wasn't quite as big an issue as Ryan had imagined, or that fat grease ball, Sire Uri, had let on. After all, these people had been in a state of war for a thousand years, so an episode or two of fisticuffs was punished by a slap on the wrist and a conditionally suspended sentence as long as no one was seriously hurt. Chameleon had every confidence that he would be free by the end of the day, providing he was willing to do something equivalent to community service. Now, the fact that he'd been touring the Fleet, educating its citizens about Earth, out of the goodness of his heart, didn't look half bad on his citizenship record either.

Still, freedom couldn't come soon enough.

Ryan's hands clenched into fists, and he forced the trepidation rising in his throat back down to his gut. He knew it was his imagination, but it was almost as if the walls were closing in on him. The air seemed denser, hotter, and fouler. His breaths were coming quicker and with increasing difficulty . . . no doubt contributing to the foul air, he reckoned with a twitchy grin. For a brief moment, it took him back to his childhood. Driving across Canada in their old '68 Dodge Monaco to visit his grandmother in Cape Breton, Jim Reeves blaring over the eight track, the car filling with smoke as his mother sucked contentedly on her Mark Ten cigarettes—self-rolled with tender loving care—while he hung his head out the window, desperate for some fresh air. Four walls to hear me, four walls to see, four walls too near me, closing in on me . . .

It took him to other places too.

He trained his eyes on the IFB monitor, even though he had the sound turned down, not wanting to hear one more time about how a 'crazed Dickins' had tried to end his own life from the ever-annoying Zed or Zara. After all, if Ryan dared to close his eyes for more than a few seconds, he would be back in the pirate colony, surrounded by koivee root, and thirty years of unspeakable misery. It hardly made sleep an inviting prospect. It seemed he had developed an allergy to jail since his incarceration. So he could dimly understand the wild terror that had filled Dickins' eyes at the thought of another confinement. The madness that had made him believe that he was surrounded by Torg and his goons, back on the asteroid. . .

Stop thinking about that place! Think about something else. Dickins . . .

What the hell was going to happen to his friend? He obviously needed some kind of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest kind of help—preferably minus the lobotomy. But where did someone find that kind of help in the Fleet? Well, they had an Orphan's Ship and a Senior's Ship. Maybe they also had a Loonie Ship? A place designated for those with mental illness. It was hard to say.

Back home, when they had started closing down all the Psychiatric Hospitals, it had quickly translated into a huge increase in the homeless, not to mention, the prison populations. 'Antisocial behaviour' didn't exactly make those struggling to get on their feet 'star applicants' for available housing, if indeed there was anything out there that they could afford in the first place. Potential employers didn't exactly rush to embrace the newly released with open arms, either. Gee whiz, what a surprise! The powers that be had bragged about the 'successful integration' of those with mental illness into the community. The problem being, that the poor bastards effected didn't have a powerful enough voice—if any at all—with which to respond to those reports. Yeah, it had saved the struggling medical system billions, but what about the ultimate cost to society? To the lives of those effected?

A sudden image of Dickins begging in a marketplace came to mind. He squelched down his all too vivid imagination, turning back to a coping mechanism that he had relied on from years before. Oh, the guards would think he was as nutty as Dickins, but at this point he just didn't care. He cleared his throat. What the hell . . .

Then, quietly, "The warden threw a party in the county jail. The prison band was there and they began to wail. The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing. You should've heard those knocked out jailbirds sing. Let's rock, everybody, let's rock. Everybody in the whole cell block. . . was dancin' to the jailhouse rock."

xxxxxxxxxx

Boomer could see Dayton and Baker both pacing alongside the _Endeavour_ as he broke through the wall of vegetation, Luana stirring in his arms. Dayton, he could see, was carrying the weapon they had issued him with, obviously keeping watch for Cylons. The astronaut whirled at the sound of Boomer's approach, weapon pointed directly at his eyes.In a blink, the Earthman lowered it.

"How is she?" Dayton asked, as he glanced at the young woman covered in soot. She muttered something unintelligible as her eyes drifted open for a moment, then fluttered shut again without seeming to focus on anything.

"Well, there are no traces of radion, so that's something," replied the Viper pilot. "At least her coughing eased off some, once we got clear of the smoke." Boomer boarded the shuttle, feeling the collapsible stairwell shaking beneath his and Lu's combined weight. He settled her into a seat middeck. "Tone says she has inhalation burns. He's got some kind of nebulizer going that's supposed to take care of it." Cool mist wafted up from the life mask, slowly starting the healing of the damaged tissues with each breath that she took.

"Amazing," Baker muttered, observing her vital signs on the portable biomonitor. He shook his head in near-disbelief. "On Earth, that would have meant near-complete respiratory failure and an extended stay in Intensive Care. Even then, there's no guarantee."

"Then I guess we're lucky were on the Colonial Health Plan. How's _Espresso Breve_?" Dayton asked. At least the warrior had been mobile the last time they had seen him as they flew overhead. "Any traces of radion on him?"

"Huh? Oh . . .I'm not even sure. He was awake and in better shape than Luana, but still looked like several depths of Hades Hole to me," Boomer replied, as Baker pulled another spacesuit from storage and shoved it towards him in pieces. They would need to get both Starbuck and Luana suited up for the trip back to the Fleet. While the cabin pressure had held on the way here, after an atmospheric entry and landing like this one, plus the upcoming stress of take-off, he was taking no chances. He wasn't going to go through all this crap to save them, only to lose them within sight of home in a depressurized cabin.

"How many Cylons were out there?" Dayton asked, leaning down to help the Colonial Warrior suit up the young woman.

"I counted five around Starbuck's position. He already had taken one down, and the others were moving in on him when we managed to flank them," Boomer replied, frowning at the effort it was taking for three of them to get one small woman into a likewise small spacesuit.

They turned as Apollo, Starbuck and Tone appeared at the hatch. Dayton and Baker immediately joined them as the men handed the injured warrior through, knowing they'd never squeeze through the opening together.

"No radion poisoning." Apollo confirmed as they met the others.

"Careful of the left ankle," Tone warned them as the Earthmen supported the warrior's weight on either side. "I haven't had time to knit the bone yet. He'll need the full treatment in the Life Station when we get back for the tissue damage."

"So, Dayton, I thought you retired from all this." Starbuck rasped, breathing hard from his one-legged hop, occasionally broken up by a concerted drag, through the field. "Didn't we try and arrange for a soft job on Council? Did that fall through?"

"No, I got it. I'm the _Earth Liaison_ now. One last mission though, _Café Caramel__. Get you home so you don't miss your wedding,_" Dayton returned with a grin. Like Luana, the kid was black from head to toe, and if the sweat pouring off him and the grimace on his face were any indication, he was hurting. Bad. They hurried him towards a seat. "You got something for pain for him, Tone?"

"Just get that foot up. He should be fine on what I've already given him for now. I need to reassess the ensign right now," the med tech replied as he followed them in.

"What's he think we have in here? La-z-boy chairs?" Dayton asked Baker, plunking the warrior into a seat and grabbing the spacesuit from nearby. He glanced at the kid as a prolonged hiss of pain passed his lips. "Come on, kid. We need to dress you up, to take you up."

"I'm not sure I brought anything appropriate for the occasion. Maybe Chameleon will lend me his black dress . . ." Starbuck returned with an effort, as his singed astrum reminded him about his embarrassing burn. He blew out a breath between his teeth, glancing over at Lu as Tone ran the biomonitor over her while Boomer readied her Upper Torso Assembly. Falling silent, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "How is she? Give it to me straight, Tone. The truth."

"Better. She's breathing easier, Starbuck. Her vitals and blood gases are almost back to normal," Tone returned, checking out the medical data. "She'll recover fully, just give her a little time. Half a centar or so of therapy, and she'll be as good as new."

"Yeah . . ." Starbuck murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Then maybe she'd get around to telling him just what was truly going through that stubborn mind of hers.

"We're going to have to cut this boot off to get the Lower Torso Assembly on Starbuck," Baker told his Commander, as he pointed to the boot that he had opened as far as possible, where already swollen and discoloured tissue was visible inside.

"Do it." Dayton nodded. "No choice."

"I don't have a knife." Baker replied with a shrug.

"Other boot," Starbuck stated, reaching down and pulling his Empyrean blade out and offering it to them.

"Handy," Baker began carefully splitting the leather with a steady hand. The young man was rigid, and at one point he thought Starbuck was going to grab the knife out of his hand and turn it on him in revenge, but instead, the Viper pilot bit his lip.

Till it bled.

"How are we doing?" Apollo called back after stowing the collapsible stairwell.

"I didn't know it was so difficult to dress full grown adults," Boomer called back, struggling with Tone to finish suiting Luana up.

"Yeah? Well, try a distracted seven-yahren-old boy sometime," Apollo fired back as he took a final glance out the hatch and pulled it shut, securing it. "Dayton and Baker, get her fired up. I'll dress Starbuck."

"Well, since you're experienced with seven-year-old boys. . ." Dayton quipped for the lieutenant's benefit as he prepared to pull off the boot. "Ready?"

Starbuck nodded briskly, gritting his teeth. "Do it."

"One, two . . ." Dayton abruptly yanked the boot free, as Baker tried to stabilize the ankle.

Starbuck yelped with pain, jumping off the seat momentarily, and feeling as though they had taken the foot off with the boot. He drew several gasping breaths before asking testily, "What happened to three?"

"I'll let you know if I find it," Dayton replied, squeezing his shoulder and heading for the flight deck. "Gonna take you home now, son."

"Sounds good," Starbuck replied as Apollo replaced the Earthmen at his side.

"C'mon, Bob, let's get the hell outta Dodge!" Dayton settled into his seat.

"We can cruise for a while until everybody's suited up, but I think the sooner we get this bird off the ground, the better," Baker replied. "Especially if there's more of those walking trash cans out there."

"Your Standard's improving by the minute." Dayton noted distractedly after a few minutes.

"I'm speaking English, you old coot," Baker pointed out as he continued going methodically through mental checklists long ingrained in his memory . . . if he could just remember where he'd left it.

"I don't feel _like _an old coot." Dayton returned, his eyes running over instruments both old and new. "At least, I don't today."

Man, oh man, it was good to be back on the flight deck, feeling useful, invigorated, and _alive_.

Baker grinned at that, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"How's it going back there?" Dayton called back as he prepared to fire her up. "Ready to go, Cortado?"

His answer was Boomer and Apollo supporting a drowsy-looking Starbuck—all suited up— through to the flight deck. The lieutenant looked like he'd had about twenty mugs of something potent in the last five centons.

"Tone's staying middeck with Luana," Apollo answered the unspoken question as they lowered Starbuck into a seat. The lieutenant's head lolled slightly, as if its weight was too much to hold up. He glanced around, seeming to have difficulty focusing as Apollo worked at strapping him in.

"Tone gave him something more for pain?" Dayton asked.

"Yeah. Maybe too much," Apollo replied ruefully, as the lieutenant's right eyelid, followed by his left, fluttered closed, and his head slumped onto the captain's shoulder while his friend fastened the harnesses. There was something to be noted about Starbuck and drugs. It was never predictable, or pretty. "Tone was concerned about the pressure change and what that might do to a broken ankle, even with a pressure suit on. Then there was something about the likelihood of throwing a blood clot with the fracture. He's medicated to the max."

"All right. Probably just as well," Dayton replied, but truthfully, he would have liked to have had the kid fully alert and enjoying the ride. The lieutenant had gone out of his way more than once to share his passion and teach them all he could about flying in his time, even smuggling them into the simulators against regulations. God, even on a simulator, that Viper of theirs was a pilot's dream! It would have been a real bonus to return the favour. He chuckled realizing that Starbuck must have just about flipped his lid when he saw the _Endeavour_ soaring overhead, coming to take him home.

He sniffed.

_Ah!_

The engines roared to life and soon they were taxiing across the rolling field, the tall grasses whipping against the ship as she gained speed. Dayton studied his instruments, balancing as best he could the thrust of the 'new' engines, with the amount of stress the _Endeavour_ was built to take. Especially considering that she was never designed to take off this way.

"Take-off speed in four . . ." said Baker. "Three. Two. One. Now!"

Dayton pulled back on the stick, and the _Endeavour_, for the first time ever on the surface, gently lifted off under her own power. He slid over the top of a stand of trees and they were airborne.

"Last one to the OC buys." Dayton called out as they slowly began to gain altitude. Forty feet. Fifty. Seventy-five. A hundred. _Yeah!_ He grinned with elation, pleased with himself, and the others, for a mission gone smoothly. His first, and the _Endeavour'_s, in thirty years. Oh, it was corny, but there was definitely a song in his heart, and the next thing he knew it was coming out of his mouth, "Fly me to the Moon, let me play among the stars, let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars . . ." He could only imagine what the Colonial Warriors behind him—not exactly a group known for breaking into song on lift-off—were thinking. "In other words . . ."

Baker chuckled beside him, "Ask me to hold your hand or to kiss you, I'll have to punch you, Commander or not."  
Dayton laughed, as they climbed to four hundred feet. "Aww. And I thought my Sinatra impression was terrific."

"Oh, Frankie!" warbled Baker, in a lousy falsetto.

"You got it," laughed Dayton. He checked his altimeter. A thousand feet, and climbing. He'd just begun banking, when an alarm sounded.

"What is it?" asked Apollo and Boomer in chorus, not accustomed to the sound, but recognizing it nonetheless as a warning.

"Radar contact. Something's coming up behind us. Fast."

"What?" asked Baker, looking at the instruments.

A blue pencil of light streaked past the cockpit.

"Cylon fighter!" cried Boomer.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The Raider screamed past the _Endeavour_, banking slightly to port as she did so. The first salvo had missed, whether by chance or design, Dayton had no idea. From what he'd heard about these robotic scum buckets, giving the enemy a chance to surrender wasn't part of their usual game plan.

"He's coming around for another pass," said Boomer, eyes darting between the radar and the windows.

"Dayton, when he comes up, you'll need to bank hard over. . ." began Apollo.

"She may not be able to take it," he replied, a bit testily.

"These newer engines . . ."

"Are putting more stress on her hull than was ever envisioned by her designers. Besides, I wasn't expecting to take us into combat, you know."

"Didn't you fly a fighter on Earth?" asked Boomer anxiously, reminding himself that Starbuck had run these two through combat simulations recently.

"Yeah, but this is like going up against an F-22 flying an anvil!" Dayton growled as he checked his scope. Sure enough, the Cylon was positioning to get on his six again. God, but that sucker was fast! She was at least twice the speed of the latest thing on Earth, in atmospheric flight, and had the manoeuvrability of an angel. To try and outrun it in something as clumsy as the _Endeavour__. . ._

Well, nothing for it. He yanked her hard over to port, then a split second later, back to starboard. As he had hoped, the Cylon had banked to port to stay on his tail, but had not responded in time to his second manoeuvre. The alien fighter peeled away to port, as he sped away as fast as he dared in the opposite direction.

"Nice move!" said Apollo.

"Old as the hills," retorted Dayton coolly, though he grinned at Baker in absolute euphoria. It had been a while since engaging in evasive manoeuvres. At least as a pilot.

"But Cylons can't anticipate very well. Certainly not at the Centurion level. You outthought him."

"But they'll learn, I take it," said Baker.

"I'm afraid so," said Boomer. "They won't fall for that trick again."

"Well, here's where we find up," said Baker. "Anemone coming up on our tail again."

"Enemy, not anemone!" The Commander snapped, swallowing the tidal pool of saliva that threatened to choke him. Again, the Cylon lined up on his six. Again, Dayton banked hard over. Only this time it was the reverse of the previous move. Again, the _Endeavour_ had dodged the bullet, thanks to the unoriginal thought of their opponents.

"Damn good!" raved Apollo. "I would never have thought of using the same move in reverse."

"I hope they appreciate that," said Dayton. He checked his instruments. They were at just under two thousand feet. While in a fighter, his instinct would be to gain altitude and try and use it against his foe, here that dictum was useless. The _Endeavour _had no armaments, and was about as nimble as a pregnant elephant on a tightrope. And he doubted that the Cylons would fall for any of his tricks again. At least tricks he could pull with a ship like this one.

"Here he climaxes again," warned Baker.

"Huh?" Boomer asked, totally lost.

Dayton snapped her hard over again, barely missing one of the Cylon's lasers. The other. . .

They rocked, and several alarms began blaring. Dayton cut speed, and the Cylon sped past, but the damage was done.

"What the frack . . .?" Starbuck muttered, lifting a heavy head and trying to focus as the shuttle shuddered. Someone was trying to hack off his foot, and his astrum was evidently on fire. Just another day in the life of a hotshot Viper Jockey. "What . . . what's going on?" he groaned, instinctively arching in his seat, but abruptly meeting the resistance of the harnesses.

"Easy, Bucko. Cylon attack." Boomer informed him succinctly, as he patted his arm reassuringly. Then he asked the Commander, "How bad?"

"Hard to say," replied Dayton. "I think he hit our tail. Our airbrakes are out!"

"Where the frack did the Cylons come from?" Starbuck asked, urgency in his voice as he straightened up in his seat. Memories of the patrol and the subsequent events flashed back at him. But wait a centon! He hadn't seen any evidence of Raiders, which meant . . . exactly nothing he abruptly realized. Yeah, there would have to be Raiders for there to be Cylons on the ground. What are you on, Bucko? Drugs? He tried to ignore his aches and pains as he took in the scene on the flight deck, trying to realign his muddled brain cells into some form of cognitive thinking.

"Behind us." Baker replied.

"Thanks a lot." Starbuck grunted. "We're hit?" He looked at Apollo who briefly nodded in reply. Then he returned his attention to Dayton. "Frack, Dayton. This is your idea of a rescue?"

"Don't grind my beans, Starbuck, or I'll percolate ya." Dayton snapped back, shaking his head that the kid could still get on his last nerve in less than a nanosecond, when he really wanted to. He glanced back briefly, recognizing that glint in the lieutenant's eyes. That look that questioned his integrity and ability, and accused him of being an old man that didn't belong there. Of course, at the same time it both challenged and dared him to take the situation to another level where it was safety be damned, and get the job done. _Damn! With a busted tail, getting back into space was iffy, at best. And if the Cylon was quick in the atmosphere, they were screamin' demons out in space. How__. . .__? _

_ Yeah!_

_xxxxxxxxxx_

"It's _awkward,_ Chameleon, to say the least." Ama touched his hand across the small table in the Astral Lounge.

"How so, Ama?" He felt a strange, but not altogether unpleasant, tingling sensation at the point of contact.

"Here's a planet that could be ideal for the prospect of settling, yet our agenda is to press on towards Earth." Ama continued.

"How ideal is it?" Chameleon asked, raising a hand to their server to fill their glasses. The tingling faded, but did not disappear entirely.

"Now that's the kicker, dear heart." Ama laughed humourlessly. "It's almost identical to Earth at a certain stage of her development. She has everything we need. An abundance of wildlife, water, fertile soil for farming, and raw materials that could support us, and our descendants for millennia. Absolutely perfect."

"Then why not give the people the option of settling, Ama?" Chameleon asked logically, his smile faint. "Many are weary of the journey. I know I am, and I'm fairly sure my son is. After all, he's planning to be sealed. Certainly many on the _Malocchio_, as well as almost every other ship in the Fleet, would applaud the thought of ending this journey now. Starting life anew."

"Because it comes at a time when the hope and eagerness to find Earth is at an all time high."

"Thanks to Commander Dayton and his men," Chameleon inserted. "Earth _is _in the forefront of everyone's mind."

"Yes. Of course. Knowing and seeing that there are truly people from Earth who have made the journey in the opposite direction has bolstered our people's faith that the suffering of this quest _is_ worthwhile. That fellow Humans await us there. And that even if our generation does not lay eyes on Earth, that the next will."

"I sense you're feeling a little guilty at withholding this information from the public?" Chameleon probed.

She sighed. "Difficult to believe, isn't it? That I would feel guilty about any decision that I have to make. But I _did_ swear to represent the interests of _all_ my electorate, Chameleon. And I know that this would interest some of them."

"Then tell them."

"Ah, Chameleon," she smiled, tapping his hand with the tip of her index finger, then leaning back in her chair. "You're much like your son. You see things in such rigid 'either-or' sorts of ways. It's more complicated than that."

"You're making it more complicated than it has to be."

"Alright, Starbuck." Ama smiled fondly at the old conman.

Chameleon smiled back at her, leaning forward and squeezing her hand. "If only I was as young and handsome."

"Thank the Goddess Triquetra that you're not." She laughed lightly. "It would be my undoing, and I'm far too old and set in my ways to be falling in love, and making a fool of myself."

"Is it only the _young_ who make fools of themselves over love?" Chameleon countered. "We never cease to be Human." He reached out to touch her hand, but somehow thought better of it.

She looked searchingly into his eyes for a moment. A long moment. "Love is for the young, Chameleon."

"Or the young at heart, Ama." This time he braved the danger, raised her hand to his lips, and gently kissed it. His fingers didn't tingle this time, but he had to wonder if perhaps hers did.

"Why, you old charmer, Chameleon," she smiled languidly. "But I was going to say that the Cylons _are_ still a possible threat."

"Bilge rot, Ama. We haven't seen them for sectars. We've lost them, or at least they've lost interest in us."

"Ah, if only Adama would concur." Ama returned.

"The Commander is single-minded," Chameleon replied. "He is a military man."

"True."

"What does Dayton think?"

"He's far too busy courting the lovely Cassiopeia right now, to concern himself with such matters."

Chameleon sniffed. "Yes, Ryan mentioned that Dayton hadn't even checked on them when I visited him in the Brig."

"Ryan was released?" Ama asked.

"Community service, the price of the damages to the Astral Lounge, and a short rein. Colonial Security will be watching him closely." Chameleon explained, then smiled dubiously.

"It seems the lovely Cassiopeia's charms are more compelling to our Earth Liaison than the welfare of his men, at least right now."

"Dayton's not the man we thought."

"Not at all, my dear," Chameleon agreed, nodding. "But who can say what thirty yahrens of captivity in a Hades Hole like that will do to a man." He paused, thanking God that Starbuck hadn't met the same fate and had managed to escape. He looked up as the head steward, Zeibert, came to a stop before their table. "Yes?"

"Your dining room is ready, sir. Madam." The immaculate steward replied with a short bow.

"Ah! Thank you, Zeibert." Chameleon rose gracefully, offering Ama his arm as they moved towards the private rooms.

"Thank you, Chameleon." Ama murmured as they cleared the Astral Lounge and headed down the hallway. "Once again I find myself indebted to you."

Chameleon paused, dropping a handful of cubits into Zeibert's waiting hand, and nodding at him, before they stepped into the turbo lift. The doors closed behind them.

"Do you think it worked?" Ama asked.

"There was a transceiver in the centrepiece on our table. I'm sure Uri heard every word," Chameleon replied with a knowing smile.

"That sneaky little grid rat." Ama nodded, "I suspected as much."

"You're a cunning woman, Ama, and more than his match." Chameleon smiled, once again taking her hand and kissing her fingertips. "I'm proud to call you friend, and to know we'll soon be family."

"One way or another, dear heart." Ama grinned in return, astonished to see that it didn't faze him in the least. It was enough to make a woman think that his charm and flirtations weren't only for Uri's benefit. "Oh my . . ."

He laughed out loud in return, with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander!" said Tigh, as Adama returned to the Bridge.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"We're picking up a second gamma frequency signal, from the planet. I didn't alert you to the first, because it was merely a progress report and things were going well. Now, however, Commander Dayton's crew has reported seeing Cylons on the ground."

"Cylons?"

"Yes, sir. In pursuit of Starbuck and Luana. _Endeavour_ is moving in for a pick-up."

Adama clenched his jaw, inexplicably getting the sudden and irrational urge to be on the Earth shuttle himself, instead of safely on the _Galactica_ waiting for progress reports. Especially knowing that the time delay in the archaic frequency meant this had all happened within the last centar.

xxxxxxxxxx

How many? How many long and sleepless rest periods had she dreamed of being reunited with her father? Cain had lead by example throughout Sheba's life, whether in a personal or a professional role, and she had done her uttermost best to try and exceed his expectations, even surpassing some of his personal bests at the Academy. She knew no other way. In the early days, after losing sight of the _Pegasus_, rarely a day passed where she didn't think about him. Dream about him. Wonder if he was still alive. Yes, though most people would have never guessed, there was many a time in the previous sectars when Sheba had been sure that Cain was dead. However, she kept those thoughts close to her heart, unwilling, and maybe just a little bit afraid to open up and, unintentionally elicit any pity. Finally, her last remnants of doubt had flickered and then died, though the tenuous flame of hope had struggled insistently to rekindle and thrive, in an intensity so reminiscent of Cain himself. Instead, it had ultimately smothered beneath the bleak harshness of reality as the sectars passed without a trace of him. Lord Sagan, there were even times when, in a fit of despair disguised as anger, she had raved against Cain's memory, blaming him and his infamous ego for going down in a courageous, but inevitable blaze of glory.

Abruptly, Starbuck's impetuous decision to take on a group of pirates that had neutralized his wing leader's ship, had changed all that. Dorado and Rooke, both from the _Pegasus_, had been discovered amongst the refugees on the pirate asteroid, and she finally knew the truth. Her chest ached with long suppressed emotions as she stood rooted to the deck, Bojay at her side and Roz and Virtanen just behind them, while the turbo lift descended towards the landing bay more noisily then she remembered. Memories, sensations, and feelings washed over her once again, as they had a thousand times before. Lords, she had missed her father.

Fortunately, she had been welcomed by a new circle of friends and—as Adama put it—family. They refused to allow her to give up hope of a possible father-daughter reunion. From the 'idealistic Apollo' to the 'cynical Starbuck', and everybody in between, they constantly tried to buoy her spirits, even when she was so very tired of wishing upon endless seas of stars. She smiled wryly at that. What was it her father used to say to his pre-teenage daughter? If wishes were Battlestars, we'd have won this gollmonging war a long time ago, baby.

Her life had changed drastically since waking up in that _Galactica_ Life Station to find out that the legendary Commander Cain was missing in action, along with several hundred of his crew, and the mighty _Pegasus_. Sheba had shifted roles from a top notch pilot trying to cause as much damage to the Cylons as possible, while under the tylinium-clad command of the Juggernaut, to a different focus in a different environment. On the _Galactica_, it was the very future of Mankind they were concerned with, not the imminent destruction of a mortal enemy. She hadn't realized how much Human connection she had missed while working double shifts and strikes around the chrono, and trying to put a dent in the Imperious Leader's plans, not to mention his chromium plated forces.

She had quickly formed fast friendships on the _Galactica_ and had even found love with Apollo, much to her enormous surprise. It had humbled her to find so much happiness so far away from her father, and had filled her with hope of another kind. Hope for a real future. On Earth.

Now, of course, just when she had thought that she had it all figured out, just when she and Apollo were rebuilding a relationship made difficult through the stresses of working together, too closely and too often, Cain had reappeared. And while in her head, she knew that that shouldn't really _change_ anything, her heart was telling her differently as she looked upon the shadow of a man that her father used to be.

Sheba's breath caught in her throat as Cain stepped off the lift and limped towards her, his right leg dragging slightly behind him as a cane—not his trademark swagger stick—supported him on that side. His face was twisted in a partial smile, his right eyelid drooping, creating a pocket below it and exposing reddened tissue that made her eyes water reflexively. That entire side of his face seemed to hang slackly, as though it didn't really belong there. She forced back the tears that pricked her eyes as the haggard and overly thin man that used to be the unbeatable Juggernaut came to a doddering stop before her.

_Oh Lords! Oh Heaven above! Daddy!!_

"Welcome home, Sheba." Cain said, carefully enunciating his words. His eyes ran her over critically, before he leaned forward and embraced her with one arm.

"Father . . ." Sheba murmured, holding tightly to him for a long moment, before pulling back slightly, and looking him over again. His face was thinner, his hair whiter, and with the physical disability of half of his body refusing to keep up with the other half . . . Lords, it was difficult not to pull him back into an embrace again, and sob out the grief and despair that was overcoming her. She was sure she could reach out and snap him in half, so thin had he become, and he appeared as though he could use about a sectar of uninterrupted sleep from the dark shadows under his eyes. The most difficult part was that she realized he looked ill adept to handle any additional concerns that weren't his own. Damn, he was so frail in appearance, so vastly different than she had thought of him all of her life, he looked ill adept to handle . . . anything. Especially Command. "It's good to be back . . ." she smiled bravely.

"How has that ole modocker been treating you?" Cain asked, with a half-smile.

"Commander Adama?" Sheba asked, seeing his nod. "He's been wonderful. Very supportive. So have all the warriors. They're a good crew. We've been fortunate."

"As I can see, baby."

"And we haven't been idle," she added a little defensively, not sure why. "We found and took out a Cylon Base Star some sectars back."

"Indeed!" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I look forward to hearing that one."

"It was glorious, sir," said Bojay. Cain turned to regard him a moment. He looked uncertain for a moment as an uncomfortable silence ensued.

"Bojay," Cain finally nodded at the other warrior, gripping his arm with a hand that moved slowly and stiffly, and with far too much concentration on his part, but at least it moved. "How are you? The last I saw of you, you were injured from the attack on Gamoray."

"Completely recovered, Sir. I had a top notch med tech caring for me." Bojay returned the grip, suddenly impressed that the man who had directed them towards a destroyed landing bay could recall his injury at all.

"Ah, Cassie," Cain nodded, ducking his head for a moment before asking, "How is she? I suppose . . . ah, Starbuck and her must be sealed with a family on the way by now?"

"Not exactly, Commander." Bojay replied with a lop-sided grin, relieved that Roz's statements seemed to be a bit extreme regarding Cain's cognisance.

"No?" Cain asked in surprise. After all, he'd left the way clear for the young warrior to make his move. Practically had given his blessing when he had declined Starbuck's offer to join the _Pegasus_ before taking on the three Base Ships. The lieutenant would have made a suitable consolation prize for the beautiful Cassiopeia. His voice rose in irritation. "Why in Hades Hole not?"

"It . . . just didn't work out," Sheba replied, smiling at little at Cain's obvious annoyance. He liked to think that everyone would play into his personal strategies and his ultimate plan for those around him, whether warrior, Cylon, or civilian. Like Bojay, she breathed out a little sigh of relief that even though his body was affected, his mind—at least at this point—seemed as sharp as ever. "They've both moved on to other relationships."

"I see. Young fool. Well, his loss." Cain replied, pausing for a moment to digest that. "Come along, both of you, and we'll catch up on what's occurred since we parted ways at Gamoray." He waved a hand towards the turbo lift once again.

"Like finding Dorado and Rooke." Sheba inserted. "They're part of the _Galactica_'s crew now."

"By all the Lords . . ." Roz grinned at the others. "Alive!"

"And men from Earth." Sheba added.

"What?" Virtanen's head snapped around. "Earth?"

"The big rock that we're all heading to." Bojay explained with a smirk.

"Wise guy." Virtanen rolled his eyes.

"That's . . . incredible." Cain inserted after a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

Or so Sheba hoped, as she exchanged concerned looks with her wingmate. Cain looked as though he was having some difficulty keeping up with the conversation.

"Commander, Roz and Virtanen told us you lost Tolen recently . . ." Bojay brought up the tragic loss of the former executive officer as the _Pegasus_ warriors followed behind.

"Tolen?" Cain hesitated, looking over his shoulder as they stepped on the lift. Then he nodded briskly before replying, "Yes. Terrible thing. An invaluable man on the Bridge."

"Who's exec now?" Bojay persevered.

"Tolen," Cain replied snappishly. "Who do you . . .?" Then he cleared his throat as all four warriors looked at him in question. "No, that's not right . . ." he muttered, and glanced at Roz. "He's dead."

"Yes, sir. He'd dead. Lost in the battle two sectars ago." Roz glanced at the others. "We have no exec right now. Or Strike Captain, for that matter."

"We don't need them," Cain replied, slamming his cane on his floor for emphasis. "This ship hasn't had a Strike Captain since Molecay. I fill that role. I'm in command here, in case you've forgotten, Lieutenant Roz!"

"No, sir. I haven't forgotten," Roz winced slightly at the tone, taking a step back.

That was when Sheba's guts dropped into her boots.

xxxxxxxxxx

Ryan paced into the _Rising Star_'s Life Station, quickly picking out where Porter sat beside Dickins' biobed. He paused, running a hand over his jaw, where the bristly texture of his beard reminded him how long it had been since he had primped for dinner. _Dinner? What's that?_ The familiar gesture was strangely comforting as he looked around the busy medical centre where he didn't recognize a single med tech. He headed over as Porter waved at him from inside a private cubicle. No one could miss the Security Guard stationed just outside.

"How's he doing?" Ryan asked, looking at the angry red skin that covered Dickins' throat like a bad burn. His friend's eyes were closed and his breathing was even, but his eyelids flickered ever so slightly.

"The Doc said that according to the brain and tissue scans, he _thought_ he'd be okay, then in the next breath said he'd never treated a self-inflicted point-blank stun-shot before." Porter announced, rubbing the back of his recently cut hair. It hadn't been more than an inch-and–a-half long since being freed. "Not exactly comforting, Paddy."

Ryan nodded, leaning over Dickins. "Gotta suck big time, waking up to find yourself . . . waking up, after trying to blow your brains out, eh Dick?"

Another flicker of an eyelid, but no verbal response from the insensate man was forthcoming.

"Paddy!" Porter hissed angrily.

"What? You don't think we should talk about the fact that he tried to check out early?"

"Maybe you could phrase it a little differently . . . or at least wait until he wakes up." Porter returned distastefully. He looked around, as if he expected Zara and a hoard of IFB cameras to suddenly pour into the room.

"Well, the problem is, I'm not sure exactly how to phrase it." He crossed his arms, and grunted. "I suppose I could find some clinical terms for trying to cash in your chips . . . suicide attempt comes to mind . . . but frankly, I'm so bloody pissed off about it, that I'm having a hard time trying to rationalize it all." Ryan snorted, turning towards the other. "I'd like to grab Dick around the throat and shake him until he explained to me _why_ he wouldn't think to tell me—or _any_ of us for that matter—that he was so close to the edge."

"I'm no shrink, but if it was anything like post-traumatic stress, like the Vietnam guys had, he might not have even known he had it."

"What I want to know is, why the hell didn't _we_ see it coming? Hell, thirty years in a hole with a guy . . ." He broke off, cursing.  
Porter shook his head in response. "Getting angry isn't going to help."

"It sure beats crying like a baby," Ryan returned disheartened. He leaned over Dickins again. "Come on, Dick. I know you're in there. Open your eyes and tell me what the hell you were thinking."

Nothing.

"Dick, wake up, or I'm putting a grenade in your bedpan."

"Leave him alone. The Doc said it might take him a while to come around." Porter grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back gently.  
"As in 'wake up' or as in 'not want to kill himself'?" Ryan asked, not really expecting a reply.

"Look, from everything you and Cassiopeia said, it sounds like he had some kind of flashback which took him right back to Torg, koivee root, and that living Hell that is only ever a nightmare away for any of us. Maybe just the thought of going through all that again was why he . . ." Porter swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking his head as the disturbing words refused to pass his lips.

"Shot himself." Ryan finished the sentence.

"You're not helping. You're really not helping," Porter told him in irritation.

"Maybe that's the problem, Jimmy. I don't know how to help. I don't know that there's anything I can do to make this better. I feel so... goddamned helpless." He cleared a voice that was suddenly hoarse with emotion. "I'd like nothing better than to be able to say something to Dick that would make him want to treasure and appreciate life the way he did when he was back in the States, married to that insanely gorgeous wife, and raising four beautiful kids. I'd like nothing better than for him to sit up and say, 'Gosh, Paddy, what an idiot I was. What the hell was I thinking? Don't worry, bud, I'm better now. Life is good. Or at least I know it can be again.'" He sighed, rubbing his hand across his jaw again. "Somehow, I just don't think that's going to happen, Jim. It almost feels as though Torg is still with us. Like this is his ultimate revenge from the grave. Like Dick is buying into it and finally letting that piece of rat shit, Torg, get the better of him."

Porter nodded slowly, squeezing Ryan's shoulder. His friend had somehow managed to put into words most of what Porter was also feeling. "Hey, Dayton always says, if you can't get even . . ."

"Get drunk." Ryan sniffed. "I'm going to find me the skankiest little bar I can find, and down me a mug or six of something numbing. Call me if he wakes up."

"As in 'regains consciousness', or as in 'comes to his senses'?" Porter asked.

"Exactly."

xxxxxxxxxx

_ "_Okay, hold on. I want to try something," said Dayton. Really, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, even if it was a little unorthodox by NASA standards. "Everybody, if your helmets aren't sealed, do it now! And cover your eyes! That's an order!"

"Can we vote on this?" Starbuck asked abruptly, even through his dissipating haze of analgesia recognizing that same look in Dayton's eyes that he had seen on two separate occasions . . . which usually resulted in somebody's death.

"No." Dayton drew his pistol, and fired directly into the port to his left. The window took two shots to blow completely, but now the wind was screaming through the cockpit.

"What the hell are you. . ." shouted Baker, but stopped as the Cylon came up again. Cutting power and airspeed as best as his ship could, Dayton let the enemy fighter rip by.

On her wingtip.

Pointing out the open window with a Colonial laser, he fired, directly into the exposed underbelly of the Cylon. Sparks flew from the impact point, and he fired again. The Cylon suddenly pulled away.

"What. . .that was . . . " Boomer shook his head incredulously. It was crazy. But it worked. "I can't believe you even tried that!"

"That's why you need to watch more Earth movies! What was that catch phrase, Bob? You need to think 'outside the box'", responded Dayton with a chuckle. "Did we hurt him bad? You guys are the experts on these Cylon jokers."

"Hard to say, without seeing it up close," replied Apollo sceptically. "And a hand laser isn't all that powerful against their hulls."

"Now you tell me," replied Dayton.

"Try asking next time!" Starbuck returned, his hands gripping the arms of his seat until his knuckles were white, as he fought against the urge to take Dayton's place at the helm . . . while on narcotics and with a broken ankle and burnt astrum. Then there was the fact that the only time he'd 'flown' the _Endeavour_ was with Dayton at his side, and five or six Empyrean Ales in their bellies, as they came as close as they could to putting Starbuck through an Earth Shuttle simulation in the _Galactica_'s landing bay.

There was no sign of the Cylon in the immediate vicinity, and Dayton took her down, back in the direction of the meadow. The fire had reached the lake, but had been stopped by the water. The wrecked Viper was still smouldering, but the other remained intact. That boded well.

But the Cylon screaming in their direction at treetop level did not. She fired, and Dayton had barely began a bank when she did so. One lance of energy was a clean miss, the other seared too close for comfort. Once more the _Endeavour _shook, and alarms sounded. Dayton pulled her over so hard that the wings threatened to fly off, if the instruments were anything to go by. Again, he fired out the window. Once, twice, all the time hoping to hell that his aim was true.

"Okay, this is going to be it, guys," he said. "Apollo, break out that heavy duty puppy we brought from the Fleet."

"Puppy?"

"Laser pulse rifle. Baker, your window."

"But we. . ."

"Like we can get into space right now, anyhow. Do it." He nodded and tried to hold her steady as Apollo went aft. It would be difficult enough to move through the ship taking evasion tactics as they were flying in the atmosphere, never mind the additional challenge of losing pressurisation. He hoped to God that Tone had stowed his gear securely.

"You have a plan?" asked Boomer.

"Yup. One, and only one."

"Mind letting us in on it this time?" asked Starbuck, hoping this was all a very bad dream as his stomach reeled uncomfortably. The throbbing of his ankle told him otherwise.

"What was that? I can't hear you! Must be the reception." said Dayton with a grin, as Apollo lurched back into the cabin in good time. The captain thrust the pulse rifle towards Baker.

"Do you know how to use it?" he asked.

"Piece of cake!" Baker replied.

"Don't you guys ever just say 'yes' or 'no'?" Apollo retorted in consternation.

"In a pig's eye!" Baker riposted with a grin as Apollo lurched back towards his seat. It was fun finally getting the hang of Colonial Standard.

The Cylon pilots had evidently learned that the unknown craft had a sting, and, in typical Cylon style, were approaching it again with no caution whatsoever. Dayton had dropped the _Endeavour _so low, he could just hear every one of his flight instructors screaming at him in concert. As he expected, the enemy took the bait, as they flew over a wide expanse of forest. He wove the ship up and down, forcing the Cylon to follow suit. Then, the Raider pulled away, and came back around from the starboard side. This time, they noted that the enemy was trailing a thin line of smoke. His shot _had _done some damage. Would it be enough?

She fired her guns at the _Endeavour, _just as Baker opened fire with the heavy rifle. The Cylon shots passed directly underneath them, and sparks flew from several instruments. Baker, however, was either a better shot, or luckier. The pulse of laser energy tore into the Cylon's right engine cowling, sending up sparks and smoke. The Raider shuddered, and dived beneath them.

"Right on!" shouted Dayton, and headed for the meadow. "Great shot!"

"I aim to titillate!" Baker laughed.

"Here he comes again," said Boomer, indicating the radar. Sure enough, the Raider was still in pursuit, despite the smoke it was trailing from one engine. Dayton swore loudly, and manoeuvred his battered ship as best he could. The contour of the land was undulating, and right now, was rising somewhat. Dayton studied it, and instantly had another idea.

"Those trees!" said Apollo, abruptly in sync with Dayton.

"Right with ya_!"_ said Dayton, weaving the_ Endeavour _up and down. The forest cover began to thin, going from solid to patchy, and he dove to treetop level, then climbed again. The Cylon, despite its obvious damage, did the same. It fired again, but missed cleanly.

"Okay, I'm getting tired of this!" Dayton said, and swore again as more sparks danced across the control panel. He headed for the thick stand of what looked like California redwoods. He held her level for what likely seemed an eternity to everyone else, as the gargantuan trees loomed evermore present. Then, when it seemed that they could not possibly pull up, he yanked back on the stick with a near-scream. The _Endeavour_ began to pull up, the treetops scraping noisily along the bottom of the ship. They soared clear, clawing for altitude. . .

And shook, as something exploded behind them in a brilliant fireball.

"Did it!" said Baker, high-fiving his skipper.

"Yeah!" responded Dayton. "And the crowd goes wild! Now, let's see if we can set her down and see how badly off we are."

"We're airborne," said Boomer. "Shouldn't we head back for the Fleet? If our suits are sealed up . . ." He indicated the open windows, and nodded towards Starbuck, his face a mask of pain as his broken ankle still hung dependent. "And Luana," he added, thinking of the young woman being tended by the med tech.

"Some of the instruments are out," said Dayton. "Our tail is probably shot off, and after getting our butt slapped by those trees, there's no telling how bad our heat shield may be. If something goes wrong, and we have to put down again, and the tiles are missing. We're toast."

"I see," hollered Apollo, assuming that toast was a bad thing. "You're right. Okay, let's set her down."

"The man speaks wisdom," said Dayton, and headed back for the meadow.

"That's why he's the Captain," Starbuck quipped, swallowing down another wave of nausea.

Dayton glanced back at him quickly. "You're looking a little green, kid. You're not going to soil my flight deck, are you?"

"Not with this fracking head gear in place." He replied ruefully, knocking on his face plate. Yeah, he was highly motivated to keep the contents of his stomach where they were. "Besides, you just blew out the windows and you're concerned about a little vomit? You're one crazy son of a daggit, Dayton. Still."

"Well, it's all relative." Dayton replied with a shrug. Bringing the _Endeavour_ around, he lined her up on their original tracks, and Baker punched the landing gear controls. All held their breath, but the gear came down, and locked into place without a hitch. "Hurdle one," sighed Dayton.

"Yeah," said Baker, letting out an equally long breath.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Dayton grinned, "thank you for flying _Miracle Spacelines. _The only spaceline where Lady Luck is your co-pilot."

Baker glanced at him and then the two Earthmen broke out laughing at their inside joke.

"Isn't it usually when they laugh that something goes wrong?" Boomer glanced at Apollo. "Or is it just me?"

"When they laugh or sing . . ." Apollo returned, glancing over at an ashen Starbuck. "You okay, Bucko?"

"Great . . ." Starbuck returned, swallowing down the acrid burning in his throat. Then the ship shuddered again and a resounding boom filled his ears. "What the . . .?"

"Oh, crap!" Dayton called out as he watched the altimeter plunge. "We're going down!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

They plummeted towards the planet's surface in a smoking, shuddering, windowless, space shuttle, hearing the familiar shouts of the pilot counting down to impact as crewmembers—religious or not—simultaneously started praying that they would survive. For the Colonials, it was like a weird replay of the crash landing on Arcta; a hit from the enemy, the screaming wind, the ship careening out of control, the pilot counting down.

"Strap in or grab the hell onto something!" shouted Dayton, hands moving about the controls like a demented pianist. Then there was a sudden, sickening scream of metal hitting the ground, and the abrupt pitch and roll, as the _Endeavour_ seemed to buck like a wild equine, lurching to the right, and then overcorrecting to the left, before Dayton regained control of the overtaxed ship and she finally slowed to a stop.

The ensuing silence was deafening.

"Is everybody all right?" Apollo called out first, releasing his harnesses and finding his feet.

"Think so," Boomer replied, also freeing himself as he turned to Starbuck. "Buddy?"

"Considering . . ." Starbuck nodded slightly as he tugged ineffectually on his own harness with hands that refused to cooperative. "Nice landing, Dayton."

"Kid . . ." Dayton snarled, tugging his own harness free and abruptly whirling on the Colonial Warrior.

"No, I mean it," Starbuck shook his head slightly, no merriment in his face. "Any landing you can walk away from . . ."

"Is a good one." Dayton finished, nodding slightly. "Thanks, Starbuck."

"Not that I'm doing a lot of walking, actually . . ." the warrior realized.

"We better move." Apollo inserted, rushing to Starbuck's seat and swatting his hands aside. "I'll get it."

"I'm going aft to check on Tone and Luana, and break out the survival packs." Boomer declared before disappearing off the flight deck.

"Hesitate, I'll help." Baker paused as he followed Boomer. "I sent out one last transmission to let the _Galactica_ know we made it, but I don't know if it . . ." He twisted his features as he sought the appropriate word, "concluded."

"Understood." Apollo nodded, then looked to Dayton. "What happened? Did an engine blow?" He wouldn't have been the least bit surprised that it would have, the way Dayton was flying her. He made Starbuck look like a little old lady out for a secton-end cruise.

"No, Captain. All functioning instruments were showing nominal. I don't think it was debris from that exploding fighter." Dayton shook his head as he moved to the captain's side. "No question, we were hit again. From the ground," What it indicated was that one or more of the centurions had hit them from the ground with their pulse-blast rifles, or, more likely, that the Cylons had some sort of ground-based weapons emplacements out there, and had somehow managed to lure them right to one. So much for the walking trash cans being predictable. _Either that, or you blundered into it all by yourself, Ding-dong!__Not exactly anencouraging thought either._Further to that, a downed ship in an open meadow was a sitting duck for another Raider to finish off. They had to get out, and quick. "I'll help carry him."

"I don't need to be carried," Starbuck protested as together, they pulled him to his feet. The pain multiplied threefold as he inadvertently bore weight on the ankle, and with a slight moan, he crumpled.

"I don't need to be carried," Dayton mimicked him, helping support the lieutenant as Apollo quickly threw him across his shoulders in a fireman's carry, ignoring his protestations.

Through the hatch he could see them rousing Luana, Boomer and Baker supporting her slight frame as they headed aft. "You have him?"

"Yeah, let's go." Apollo replied, adjusting his friend's weight with a grunt.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander, a further report from the planet." Omega alerted him. "The _Endeavour_ is under attack."

Adama nodded, realizing that by the time they had received the signal, the attack could very well have ended. "Attack? The Dynamos? Or Cylons?"

"Negative, sir. Scanners still show the Dynamos as dormant." said Omega. "There's a corresponding cut in energy wavelons from the planet." He paused. "Signal cut off, Commander."

"I'm sure they said it was Cylon, Commander." Tigh reported.

"Replay the original message, and then the translation this time," Adama ordered the flight officer.

Omega complied, and they waited patiently as an anxious male voice spoke in a garbled language that had come to be known as 'English'.

". . . _actica,_this is _Endeav__. . ._der attack. I repeat, we are under attack! Cylon fight. . .aking evasive action. Will contact you when. . ."

"That's it, sir," said Omega, once both transmission and translation were complete.

"That sounded like Baker's voice," said Adama. "It certainly was their native language."

"Dayton's idea," said Tigh. "In the event of enemy contact, the Cylons have no template for it, while we have a translation matrix. It's as good as a coded signal."

"Maybe better since the Cylons have been known to break our codes. Clever of the Earthmen," replied Adama nodding. "Cylons. Omega, still no activity from the Base Ship?"

"No sir. Concentrated scan still reads her as dead in space. Completely cold."

"Then where are the Cylon fighters coming from? And how did they get past the Dynamos?"

"Unknown, sir," replied Omega.

"Should we have Red Squadron stand by?" Tigh asked.

Adama blew out a short breath of frustration. His hands were tied. If he launched his fighters, the Dynamos could wipe out an entire squadron in the blink of an eye. If they were still acting as a defensive network. And what was happening on the planet's surface to cause the cut in energy wavelons? "When will Dr. Wilker be ready to send out his PMU's? We need to find out if the Dynamos are still a danger to our fighters."

"You think the Cylons somehow made it past the defensive network?" Tigh asked.

"Unless they were already there waiting for us." Adama returned. He looked to Omega, "Scans?"

"Clear, sir. No sign of any additional Cylons anywhere."

xxxxxxxxxx

"How many glasses does it take to ease your pain?"

Ryan smiled ever so slightly as Ama whispered hauntingly in his ear. He'd been sitting in the secluded little bar on the _Rising Star_ for some time now, drinking continuously as he waited for the magic. For that mystical moment that he knew would inevitably come when the liquor he had consumed would finally quell his anger at Uri and Dickins, and even at Dayton for picking this day, of all days, to joyride down to Planet 'P'.

"The jury's still out on that one," Ryan replied, detecting the slight slurring of his words. He tilted his glass up and drained it, staring through the bottom of it at the light fixture, then closing his eyes for a micron as the heat enveloped him once again, making the cold reality and harsh ugliness of the world disappear . . . if only for an instant. Then he gazed into the translucent bottom once more, seeing a face stare back at him. A face that he would wipe that smirk off of, come hell or high water. Carefully, he stacked his glass on top of the others still sitting in front of him, the teetering tower evidence of his concerted effort to empty this charming establishment of its supply of Gut Rot Whiskey, as he called it. "One more dead soldier." His words sounded hollow, and their particular significance hit him hard. He let out a deep breath as he thought about Dickins lying insensate in a medical bed.

"Can I take those?"

The server was back, once again trying to remove all traces of a man sitting there by himself, drinking himself into oblivion. Apparently, it was upsetting to see a collection of empty glasses, offering the blatant proof, were any needed, that the patrons were there to do some _serious_ drinking. He wondered briefly at the irony of that as he pictured in his mind's eye the dark and dank little retreat that promised seclusion and privacy to its patrons. He tossed a few cubits on her tray, and offered her a smile. "No. Leave them, sweetheart. But you can get me another." He glanced at Ama as she slid into the seat next to him. "And one for the lady."

They sat there quietly until a drink was placed in front of them both. Ryan nodded his thanks and picked up his glass, swirling the dark, amber liquid and holding it up to eye level as he gazed into its depths.

"What do you see there, Paddy Ryan?" Ama asked him.

"A reprieve," Ryan replied quietly before he turned to face her. She was looking entirely too respectable these days, her hair oh-_so_ elegantly coiffed, and carefully arranged atop her head. He placed his glass on the table and reached over, efficiently removing the few hairpins that transformed her from the wild Empyrean Necromancer into Ama of the Council of the Twelve. Her white hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and for good measure, he mussed it thoroughly as she stared at him in amusement the entire time. "That's better."

"Quite," she replied as she raised the glass, sniffing it. Then in one gulp, she downed it and slammed it on the table before her.

"Jaysus Murphy, Ama! You're a woman after my own heart!" Ryan chuckled.

"It's a cold place today, your heart," Ama mused, lightly touching his hand and then taking it in her own. "And could probably use some company."

Ryan sighed, turning towards her and letting her take his other hand. He felt a spark, then a flow of warm energy. He gazed into her grey eyes, startled for a moment how like in colour they were to Dayton's. It was reassuring, somehow. There was something about Ama that made him feel very relaxed and cared for as he studied her slightly weathered features. It was as though he was holding the hands of Mother Earth Herself, as she leaned forward, touching her forehead to his for a long—strangely comforting—moment. He had miraculously found the magic moment, through Ama, that he had sought through the Gut Rot Whiskey.

She pulled back slightly, not letting go of his hands, letting her energy flow through him, and receiving his in return. Closing her eyes a moment, she breathed slowly and deeply. "It must be difficult being in the constant company of your friends for thirty yahrens, to suddenly have one in a coma in the Life Station, and two on a mission, and out of contact." She opened her eyes.

Ryan's breath hitched, and he found himself holding it for a moment. He shook his head slightly. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to be ashamed to admit you need the support of your friends, Paddy Ryan. I personally find it quite. . .poetic and beautiful," she told him softly. "Mark Dayton has been a constant at your side for a very long time. He's your closest friend. It's no wonder that you're angry at him for not being here now, when you need him."

"How do you know . . .?" Ryan paused, shaking his head again in wonder.

"Each of you has the soul of the warrior. You have been together in adversity for so long, it is as if you were all forged, melded, into a single man. A considerable, indeed, formidable one. Without him, you feel. . .incomplete. Like one who has lost an eye, or a limb. And with your other friend lying, caught between life and death, you feel bereft, as if a part of yourself was cut out." She looked him right in the eyes, as if daring him to deny it. For a tiny moment, Ryan was reminded of the parish priest, Father LeBecque, when he was a boy. The priest had caught him in a lie, and the man's penetrating eyes had bore right into his soul. However, with Ama there was no accusation, just a quiet recognition and acceptance.

He forced a smile. "That's some weird voodoo you've got going there, lady."

Ama smiled in return. "Voodoo?" She rolled the word around in her mouth, trying it once more. "Hmm. . . I think I like that." She squeezed his hands again. "I can also sense that you're looking for some way to avenge your friend. That at the bottom of every one of those glasses is Sire Uri staring back at you mockingly."

"How the hell could you know that?" Ryan asked haltingly. The insufferable Sire only lived a few levels away from the Earthmen. It wouldn't take much to corner him in a turbo lift and teach him what happens to those that mess with Ryan's friends. His mind flickered back to him and Baker teaching Fausto a lesson during the _Journey to Earth_ premiere when the odious Guidobaldo had made off with Starbuck. However, Fausto hadn't expected to be attacked in his own offices, so the advantage had been theirs. Uri was far more cautious.

"Your hostility is as palpable as your despair, Paddy Ryan." Ama replied. "But I must warn you, that Sire Uri would use any threat against him, either physical or verbal, as one more opportunity to discredit Mark Dayton. Indeed, all of you, and through you, Commander Adama and his leadership. He'd once more allude to the violent, desperate and unpredictable nature of your people. I'm sure you don't want that to happen. I know I don't."

"Do you believe that, Ama? That we're violent and unpredictable?" Ryan asked. While they had, in more relaxed moments, talked about their respective worlds, he and the rest had avoided discussion of Earth's more violent history. Sadistic dictators, psychopathic genocides, wars seemingly without end. Now, looking at her, he had a feeling she knew it all anyway. So why hide it?

_So much for discretion, Paddy, old boy!_

"It shouldn't matter, Paddy Ryan, what I think. It's what you know that should matter." Ama replied.

Ryan sniffed as her words sunk in. "Yeah."

"And I will take care of Sire Uri. In fact, if he tries to make any further trouble for you, I'll turn him into a porcine." Her face lit up at the thought, then she realized that from 'Uri' to 'porcine' wasn't really much of a stretch of the imagination. "But you must give me the latitude to finish what I've already started without any further arrests or distractions. You need to rein in your need for revenge."

"I can't let him think that he got away with what he did to Dick," Ryan returned, fighting hard to keep even the tiniest glimmer of a tear from betraying him. "I just can't!"

"Sire Uri will curse the day he decided to try to manipulate his way back to power," Ama replied. "Remember, especially now, that the dourest of situations may actually be a blessing in disguise."

"Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that."

"This really isn't the place to embrace such thoughts." Ama shrugged, glancing at his pile of empty glasses.

"Where is?" Ryan scoffed.

"Where you are needed most. The Life Station." She squeezed his hands once last time, before standing and kissing him gently on the forehead, as if he was a child.

"Yes, Mother." Ryan replied warmly, with no hint of his usual sarcasm. "I'm going."

"Good lad."

xxxxxxxxxx

Sheba hit the entry chime

A few words aside to Med Tech Zeb was all that Sheba really needed to realize the possible extent of her father's neurological damage. Only a thorough brain scan, available through the _Galactica_'s Life Station, would tell them for sure whether or not the lack of oxygen to Cain's brain suffered during his cerebral infarct had caused permanent damage, or whether some measure of recovery was actually possible. Zeb had admitted that he simply didn't know if Colonial medical science was capable of repairing neural hypoxic damage so long after it had happened. Only Dr. Salik could tell them that now. The usual treatment ritually took place within centars of occurrence, with the greatest success rate occurring centons afterwards. Still, it was crucial to discover whether or not the Juggernaut should still be in command. It was imperative that Sheba know all her facts before she discussed it with her father.

"Enter!" Cain called out.

This was going to be the most difficult discussion she had ever had with her father, or in fact with any fellow officer, and she wasn't looking forward to it at all. As a Senior Lieutenant, trained from her early days in the Academy for the fast track to Command—despite the several snickers and disparaging remarks that she would be 'squeezing out babies' long before she ever commanded her own squadron, as well as the usual nepotistic cracks—she knew her duty. Sheba took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, then stepped forward into her father's quarters.

"Now where did you get to?" Cain asked quietly, a twisted smile on his face. "You disappeared so quickly after our meeting, that it made me wonder if I had just _imagined_ you being here."

The meeting with Cain, Bojay, Sheba, Roz and Virtanen had been brief, awkward, stressful, and confusing. Over all, it had left her with the impression that Cain was having periods of memory loss, but at the same time he was adamantly refusing to acknowledge it. His crew was left with no one willing—or with enough rank after the recent death of any senior officers—to challenge Cain over his ability to command. After all, he was a leader that they had placed so far up on a pedestal that it would have made the average angel light-headed from the thin air at that altitude. The result was a demoralised crew with an edge of desperation, waiting for something to happen. Sheba had promised Roz that she would initiate that something.

Sheba looked at her father critically. "I spoke with your medical advisor. Do you know who I mean?"

Cain sniffed, leaning heavily on his cane. He scowled, looking down at the idle swagger stick on his desk for a moment, before returning his attention to her. "Dr. Eco. I haven't seen him around for over a sectar . . ." Then he hesitated.

"Eco was killed in the battle, father. The Life Station was cut off and lost life supports . . ." Sheba replied, though it broke her heart that she was having to correct him once again. "Roz showed me the damage. The whole area's still sealed off."

"Lords of Kobol!" Cain exploded, his face an abrupt mask of fury. "Do you think I don't know that?" He lifted his cane, slamming it on his desk angrily, but almost lost his balance in the meantime.

Sheba rushed to his side, steadying him. "I think that . . ." she sighed, "I know you have some memory loss related to your own injuries during that battle, Commander. I think you're doing your best to try and hide it, but even you must realize that your thought processes have been effected."

"Commander, eh? Is that your professional opinion, Lieutenant?" Cain snapped as he pulled himself free from her grasp.

He'd suddenly gone into 'parent mode', a look and tone she remembered only too well from long ago. "It's Med Tech _Zeb_'s professional opinion, father." She raised her hands, backing away from him a step, allowing him his space. "His _medical_ opinion. You can barely remember from one moment to the next that Alpha Bay is destroyed, and that Tolen and Dr. Eco were among the dead from a battle only two sectars ago. How on Caprica do you think you can still continue to command the _Pegasus_ as if nothing has happened?"

"You're out of line, Lieutenant!" Cain returned.

"Am I?" Sheba asked softly. "Am I really, father?"

"The _Pegasus_ is my battlestar! I'm not giving her up!"

"I'm not asking you to." Sheba shook her head, giving him a few microns to let that sink in. "You're the greatest military leader of our time . . . Hades Hole, of _all_ time. And you're my father. I have the utmost respect for you, and total confidence that with the proper treatment you will completely recover. But you refuse to even entertain the thought of a follow-up visit with Zeb, never mind trying the therapy he recommended."

Cain paused, retreating from her slightly as he considered this. "What are you proposing then?"

"Let me help you." Sheba replied with a slight shrug. "Until you've recovered, let me take on some of the responsibilities, and let you focus on getting well."

Cain studied her a moment. "You'd come back to the _Pegasus_?"

"You sound surprised by that."

"I understood . . . from Bojay . . . that you and Captain Apollo were . . . are . . ." Cain muttered, raising a hand as he tried to find the words.

"We are." Sheba nodded, sniffing as she realized that she wasn't the only one doing a little reconnaissance before this meeting. Her father had also been checking up on her. Some things, obviously, were still working according to specs. "That's irrelevant."

"I see." Cain sat on the corner of his desk. He let out a deep breath. "No, I . . .I don't really. Why is it irrelevant?"

"I can still be assigned to the _Pegasus_ and have a relationship with Apollo." Sheba replied. "If anyone understands that duty needs to come first, it's Apollo."

"He might not like that." Cain remarked wryly.

"Father, you're as bad as the rest of them." Sheba returned stubbornly. "You've told me all my life that I can do anything I set my mind to, but on the other hand you obviously still think that as soon as I fall in love, that I should settle down and become 'Sheba-homemaker'." She shuddered dramatically for effect. "Lords of Kobol! As long as we're still at war, I'll rather freeze to death on Kalpa first!"

Cain smiled slightly, covering the affected side of his face with his hand, knowing the permanent droop would cause his face to twist hideously. "You're like your mother, Sheba. You tell it as you see it."

"I'm like a certain _other_ parent, too," Sheba replied, putting a hand on his. "I want you to make me Strike Captain of the _Pegasus_. I want to lead her squadrons for you. Not just my own, but both her squadrons once we get our manpower back from the _Galactica_. I want to help you rebuild this battlestar and her crew to their former glory." She rose, and moved to his small sideboard. Lifting the almost empty carafe of ambrosa, she started to pour two small glasses, wishing she felt half as confident in this decision as she was intimating. A cabinet door hung part way open, and she automatically moved to nudge it shut with her knee. It refused to budge. She casually opened it, seeing several empty ambrosa bottles discarded there. Oh, father!

"Promote you above Dorado? Above Bojay?"

She glanced back at him. "Like me, they're both seconded to the _Galactica_ right now. If I transfer back now on your orders, I'll be senior officer as things stand. I'm also the best officer for the job. You know that." Sheba pointed out, her tenacity coming to the forefront at a critical time. She had been one of the best Squadron Leaders that Cain had ever seen, with an intuitive nature and a skill set that few could match. Silver Spar had set kill records that would have made other fighter pilots green with envy, if they weren't monging themselves at the thought of the amount of action that the _Pegasus_ saw on a regular basis back then. "Besides, Dorado was promoted after Gamoray. He's a good warrior, but I'm willing to bet that he wouldn't have been your first choice for promotion to captain if most of your pilots hadn't been transferred to Adama's forces."

"And Bojay?" Cain asked.

"Bojay will understand, father. Above anyone else, Bojay will understand," Sheba averred. He'd been like a brother to her for yahrens, and was the only one who really recognized how difficult it had been for her to step back from working with Apollo, in order to save their relationship. Her career had always been important to her, and this opportunity for promotion— as well as a chance to help her father and restore the _Pegasus_—was like a gift from God Almighty himself. Besides, much like Starbuck with Apollo, she knew that her oldest friend would fly to the deepest depths of Hades Hole if she asked. "Bojay would support me in this. He'd support both of us."

"Well. . ." he seemed to consider it a moment. "I don't see why not. I'm sure Tolen could. . .I mean, the other pilots would see themselves clear." Then a little bit of the old fire came back into his eyes, and they shone with a clarity that was now rare. "And, damn it all, it's my decision anyhow. I don't have to rationalise it to anyone else. How soon can we rendezvous with the _Galactica_?"

"Six centars, Commander. But I think we should first look at how we can retrieve that Cylon Base Ship to use for scrap metal for repairs to the _Pegasus_." Sheba told him in return, handing him his drink. "And to build some new Vipers."

"Indeed." Cain nodded, looking at her proudly, as he raised his glass. "To your promotion. Captain."

"And your health." Sheba smiled, taking a small sip of alcohol that tasted as though it had been distilled that very day. Controlling the urge to spit it out, she began mentally listing what she needed to do next.

xxxxxxxxxx

"By-your-command."

Malus kept his back turned on the Centurion for a moment, before slowly turning to acknowledge him . . . for the one hundred and fifty-three thousand and eighth time in—he double-checked his inner chrono —one hundred and four yahrens, seven sectars, two sectons, three days, nine centars, and three point six six six centons, including the six times he had shut himself down out of sheer boredom. But who was counting? "Report, Centurion."

"Our-Raider-was-destroyed-but-we-shot-down-the-unidentified-shuttlecraft-from-our- weapons-emplacement."

Malus was almost surprised at their success, but, as his first programmer had told him when he was initially activated, good programming seldom was a waste. "I see. No more Colonial fighters?"

"No."

"Hmm. Survivors?" the IL Series asked, wondering again how the Vipers had initially appeared on the planet's surface without actually being detected by their scanner, and then how the strange shuttlecraft had managed to make it past the planet's sentinels.

"We-currently-have-a-patrol-moving-to-investigate-and-intercept. Survivors-unknown. What-are-your-orders?" the Centurion droned.

Of course, he always droned. They _all_ droned! Why in Cylon's name couldn't they. . .burble?

The IL glanced up at the immense screen with the emblem of the green blob that had eluded him completely since he had first discovered this control centre and had gazed upon the symbol, wondering what it represented. Since then they had discovered a likeness growing on a tree nearby. Quite a few, actually. Well, to be precise, one million, seven-hundred and eighteen thousand, six hundred and four, in various stages of growth. _But who was counting?_ Evidently, it was something that Humans considered a food source, his woefully incomplete databanks had informed him.

He had spent yahren after unutterably boring yahren in this cybernetically forsaken place, his only link with Cylon being the Base Star that had assigned his small battalion to investigate this strange planet, that upon high-intensity scanning seemed to be constantly and inexplicably modified—by what science they did not know—by its equally inexplicable spherical guardians. His mission—once he was able to find a surprising hole in the seemingly impenetrable network of sentinels—was to find out who was behind the transformation of this planet. He had waited for over a century, his only company his battalion of centurions, as the mystery stubbornly remained unsolved. The planet's transformation resisted every analytical technique at their disposal. A century on an isolated, hyper-evolving planet, while his Base Ship, presumably, continued its exploration of deep, unexplored regions of space, and he waited for them to return so he could report his ultimate failure . . . providing they could figure a way out past the sentinels since the 'hole' had closed over a hundred yahren ago. As assignments went, it had all the intellectual stimulation of watching centurions rust.

And he ought to know.

"Well, by all means, in case there are survivors, prepare the cells," Malus replied. He wondered if the Humans could make anything of the green blob, since the planetary defences seemed designed to accommodate their presence. Perhaps the mystery was finally unravelling. "I could do with some stimulating company, after all."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Colonel Tigh, there seems to be a problem with the Programmable Mobile Unit," Rigel announced as she once again tried to regain control of it. It no longer responded. Instead, it was drifting aimlessly in space, no longer on the correct vector to intercept the targeted Dynamo.

"Let me see," Dr. Wilker interrupted from where he had been monitoring its progress and watching the relayed telemetry just over her left shoulder. "The range?" he looked to Technician Hummer.

"Almost for certain, Doc. We just finished working on boosting the range by refining the emitting array, but never had a chance to field test it. Just remember though, the last time we released one of these babies and sent it up against a Dynamo, we did have the Viper pilots controlling them at short range."

"Sir, I'd be willing . . ." Lia jumped at the chance to do something to help.

"I'm not risking Viper pilots within range of this Dynamo network," Colonel Tigh reminded them. "If you recall, that's how we arrived in this . . ."

"We understand, sir." Hummer nodded. "The supposed advantage in utilizing the PMU's is so as to _not_ endanger our people, but if you remember, the original function was for repairs and maintenance of the ships in the Fleet, not for reconnoitring in space. How far was our patrol away from the Dynamos before they initially activated, Colonel?" Hummer asked.

"They had a visual," Tigh replied. "From the telemetry report, it was less than fifty metrons. However, we can't be certain that when the Dynamos . . . scanned the Vipers ion by ion, that something within them might have been activated so that they recognize and respond to them differently now."

"Their programming may be far more flexible than we thought." Adama suggested.

Wilker nodded his agreement. "We've plotted a more recent prediction of the Dynamos course, Commander. It seems they will converge over the same general area where Starbuck's emergency beacon was initially detected."

"In how long?" Tigh asked.

"Thirty centars," Wilker added. "Assuming their velocity doesn't change."

"Then what happens?" Adama asked rhetorically.

"God knows." Wilker replied, shaking his head as he reviewed the readouts on screen.

"And we all know that He ain't telling." Hummer remarked with a sigh.

"Anything more from the _Endeavour_?" Adama checked.

"No, sir. Nothing," replied Omega, then he paused and looked up from his board. "Commander!"

"Yes?"

"Scanner contact. At extreme range in sector Delta 8. Moving this way."

"Identity?"

"None yet, sir," replied Omega.

"ETA?" asked Tigh.

"It's moving at. . .point 94 of lightspeed, sir. ETA. . ."he ran a calculation, "eight point six centars."

"Any signals? Messages of any kind?" asked Adama.

"None yet, sir."

"Omega, launch a patrol to investigate." Adama turned to look at his Exec. He raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"Sector Delta 8. That's where Sheba and Bojay. . ."

"Commander," interrupted Omega, a smile crossing his face. "An ID on the contact. It's the _Pegasus,_sir!" The bridge erupted in cheers.

"Open a channel," ordered Adama.

"Incoming signal from the _Pegasus_, sir," said Omega, then his brows knitted. "It's . . . uh, Strike Captain Sheba, Sir. Of the _Pegasus_."

_Strike Captain Sheba?_

xxxxxxxxxx

It was almost unbelievable. _Almost_. Sire Uri as the guest star—and the behind the scenes impetus—of the latest IFB show, Bureaucratic Watch: An Eye on Our Leaders. Chameleon adjusted the volume, wishing he could also adjust the picture, as Sire Uri seemed to ooze onto the screen once more, no doubt, trying yet again to discredit Dayton and the rest of the Earthmen in front of the Fleet. It was getting to be old news, but still he tuned in. He couldn't help but wonder if the corrupt old bureautician had taken their bait.

"Zara, my dear, Dayton's sole qualifications for the job seem to be that he . . . reputedly, came from Earth." Uri replied.

"_'Reputedly._' You have your doubts about that, Sire?"

"Well, it does seem entirely too convenient that these men have arrived to lend credence to Adama's determined scheme to lead us all to Earth. As you know, I always preferred the resettlement option, not seeing the point—especially now that we are manifestly safe from the Cylons—of continuing this seemingly endless journey through the Heavens. The newly elected Council are predominantly young, and it would seem easily influenced by the momentum and excitement of the discovery of Dayton and his men. What intrigues me, is that no one thought to doubt the validity of their claims. At least openly. Perhaps we are too blinded by their tales to see beyond them."

"And if we looked beyond them, what would we see?" Zara asked.

Sire Uri smiled for a moment. "That Dayton is only a man, with faults and secrets, like any other man."

Chameleon watched Uri pause thoughtfully, and recognized the carefully disguised cunning beneath the flowing robes of an overweight, aged man. It was a disguise that concealed a manipulative and venomous mind that had dedicated itself to discrediting Dayton, and through him, Commander Adama, all in pursuit of the continuance of his accustomed lifestyle of comfort, through power and influence. Chameleon smiled. It would be enjoyable to watch Ama duel with the old bureautician. Uri had met his match . . . but he didn't know it yet.

"Secrets, Sire Uri?" Zara asked.

"I believe that I have already mentioned that Commander Dayton has grown quite . . . close to a woman who studied in the Gemonese Sanctorium in the ancient tradition of Socialation. And while we all know that Socialation was a formerly wide-spread and somewhat acceptable practice amongst the commoners, it is certainly not an appropriate designation for the love interest of a man now sitting on Council, even if only in an advisory position," Uri reasoned. "It makes a man wonder if the next thing we'll see, is Commander Adama emptying the Prison Barge and appointing its population to our Ethics Committee."

Chameleon jumped to his feet, his face flushing in anger as he glared at the monitor. "Why you slimy, old . . ." He stopped, momentarily tempted to send his glass of ambrosa hurtling through the screen, however, it was the good stuff. "I'll have Ama turn you into a Aquarian Sea Slug, and you can look more like the part that you play!"

"_I believe you are referring to Cassiopeia, Sire. She's one of theGalactica's most respected med techs now_. Hardly an object of opprobrium, one would think."

Chameleon couldn't help but smile as Zara bristled while she replied to the bureautician. An unlikely ally.

"Ah, you've done your research, my dear. I'm impressed," Uri complimented the reporter. "Still, with that young woman's socialating skills, I'm sure she could have obtained any designation in the Fleet that she pursued. Most men would be quite defenceless against her . . . feminine wiles, shall we say."

Chameleon just about burst a blood vessel as the Sire alluded to the possibility that Cassiopeia had 'slept her way' towards securing a position on the_Galactica_. Predictably, the reporter's eyes seemed to light up maliciously at the thought of another woman's success being gained through such base and carnal abilities, rather than merit, dedication and intelligence. It was typical of some of the powerful and successful women in the Fleet, that they celebrated the downfall of their peers, even as they made a feeble attempt to defend them.

"As well, I'm sure we're all aware now that lately two of Commander Dayton's men were involved in an altercation in a public arena that resulted in bodily harm to innocent bystanders, as well as Captain Dickins turning a weapon on himself." Uri looked appropriately shocked, despite the fact that he had already shared this news with his audience on the Primary Report. "I'm afraid that yahrens of incarceration on that Pirate Asteroid has adversely affected these men, making them violent and unpredictable. Again, not exactly a shining example of someone that I, personally, would place on Council."

"You believe that Commander Dayton is capable of the same?" Zara asked.

"_Did he not suffer through the same indignities as his compatriots? Does he not come from the same society? Furthermore, I understand he hasn't even had the compassion to check in on his man, who is this moment in a coma in the_Rising Star_'s Life Station. Perhaps, indeed let us hope, that Dayton is as disgusted with their behaviour as the rest of us. Or he is simply too distracted by his lady love to find the time,_" Uri commented with a shrug. "Personally, I wonder if these violent men are indicative of the average Earthling, and if we should once again reconsider this seemingly endless voyage. Perhaps Earth is not a place where a people of our advanced civilization would comfortably fit in."

"You have always been a supporter of Settlement, Sire Uri," Zara nodded. "But finding an appropriate world that could sustain our vast population where we would be welcome is almost an impossible task. At least we have a link with Earth, through the Thirteenth Tribe."

"Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, my dear," Uri refuted, holding up a finger, voice like a teacher gently reprimanding a slow student. "I believe that currently we are relatively close to a planet that could do just that. An unpopulated planet, that, as I believe Councilwoman Ama was recently heard to say, that is—and I quote—'almost identical to Earth at a certain stage of her development. She has everything we need. An abundance of wildlife, water, fertile soil for farming, and raw materials, that could support us, and our descendants for millennia. Absolutely perfect.' However, the current Council directive is that we should push onwards towards Earth."

Zara seemed speechless for a moment.

"Yes, I too was taken aback when I heard, Zara. Why would we continue this pointless trek across the stars when everything we need is so close. We could start anew. Rebuild." Uri smiled. "It would be worth asking the Council about, certainly."

Chameleon reached for his comm unit, waiting the scant microns for a voice to respond. "Ama, it's time."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Are we . . . there yet?" Starbuck moaned, getting a chorus of groans in return.

"Starbuck, you sound like my three-year-old. Are we there yet?" Dayton repeated singsong, then grimaced as he thought about his statement. "Scratch that. She's thirty-four." He lapsed into silence as he readjusted the weight of Apollo's pack.

Starbuck ignored Dayton. After all, bouncing up and down on someone's shoulder really wasn't conducive to settling a stomach that was already reeling. At least he had dumped the head gear. For a moment, he wondered if he should warn Apollo that he might just throw up all over the Strike Captain, then he remembered a particularly distasteful episode on Alrin where Apollo had done just that to Starbuck. But in his face. Yeah, he owed him one.

Surely to God they were far enough away from the _Endeavour_ that if it blew up, they would be safe. Hades, they had left the smouldering space shuttle behind long ago. Surely they could rest just a little while and he could get off this lurching ride that jarred his ankle and upset his stomach even more with each successive step that Apollo took as he lumbered along endlessly. Once again, it took him back to being captured by the Cylons on Attila, and he conceded that perhaps he wasn't exactly thinking clearly when he was more concerned about puking on Apollo's boots, then getting mowed down by Cylons in a possible strafing run. Oh, frack . . .

Apollo stumbled, tightening his grip on Starbuck as he did so, and wincing with the resulting groan of pain and further rasping breaths from the injured warrior. "Sorry, Starbuck," the captain murmured as he regained his balance easily and fell in again behind Boomer. "We need to take a break soon," he announced.

"I can carry him," Boomer inserted, as he turned. They had covered about a kilometron, heading for a densely forested area, and escaping detection—at least for now—from any air reconnaissance and attack that might happen along . . . and oddly enough hadn't so far.

"So could I." Dayton offered.

"I'm more worried about Starbuck, than me." Apollo returned honestly, though once he thought about it, his shoulders and legs were beginning to burn with the exertion in the growing heat, especially after the beating his body had taken that morning in hoverhockey. He'd been so focused and determined to reach the tree line before they were rediscovered by the Cylons, that he really hadn't given it much thought until now.

"Me too." Starbuck quipped, swallowing another mouthful of bile and then coughing as it went down the wrong way. Once again he willed his treacherous stomach under control, determined he wasn't going to humiliate himself amidst this group of Colonial Warriors and Earth Astronuts. Okay, so he was a little ambivalent about the whole vomiting issue. But at least it kept his mind off his ankle . . . and what exactly was going through Luana's mind as she followed along a few paces behind him, conspicuously silent.

"We can take a break once we hit the woods ahead. About another ten minutes . . .centons, or so, I'd say," Dayton replied, turning back towards Tone and Luana. "We're still way too exposed out here, folks." He gestured, indicating the open terrain about them. Aside from a few boulders and scraggly trees, the area from there back to the landing site was as open as a football field. You couldn't ask for better strafing or sniping terrain. "How are you doing, Luana?"

Tone had purposely revived her in the shuttle, deeming her inhalation treatments sufficient, given the circumstances, so that she could make the trek to the forest under her own power. After all, they needed to carry survival packs, extra weapons, and a med kit, as well as Starbuck. It had been disorienting for her, to say the least, awakening aboard the _Endeavour_ to find that Starbuck had broken his ankle while trying to carry her out of a flaming field brimming with Cylons, and that the old Earth shuttle had inexplicably been sent to rescue them. She recalled Tone trying to offer some explanations for that regarding the Dynamos and their recognition system, but truthfully, his interpretation seemed too generalized, and seemed to raise more questions than it answered. She'd have to ask Apollo or Boomer later.

"Just peachy," she replied, being immediately rewarded with a huge grin as Dayton realized she had responded in English. Along with Starbuck, she had spent enough time in the presence of the Earthlings that she had picked up a smattering of their unusual language, mainly some of the odder expressions. "How long will it take to fix Starbuck's broken ankle, Tone?" she asked the med tech.

"Once we find a safe place to rest, maybe fifteen or twenty centons, uninterrupted." Tone replied. "It's still going to be a bit sore though with all the swelling that's set in, but he'll be able to walk on it with no problem in fairly short order."

"What I want to know is, where the hell are the Cylons?" Dayton interrupted. "I thought they'd be all over us by now."

"Cue Cylons. Enter, stage right." Baker returned wryly.

"I don't understand it either. Usually, they fly in formation in groups of three. Instead, we had one Raider engaging us, looking a little rough for wear, and that's it." Apollo agreed.

"They still shot us down," Boomer pointed out.

"We weren't exactly flying a fighter, guys," Dayton reminded them.

"But where's the rest of their squadron?" Apollo asked. "I mean, one ship? This makes no sense at all."

"And what about their ground troops? That's the shot that really got us, after all." Dayton inserted.

"Sorry. Don't know. We didn't have a chance to ask them while they were trying to hunt us down and kill us," Luana replied, shrugging as the conversation suddenly halted and heads whipped around to look at her in apparent surprise.

"I remember when she was sweet and unassuming." Boomer told them reminiscently.

"What in Hades hole did you do to her, Bucko?" Apollo added with a smile.

"Better ask Lu." Starbuck replied with a grunt, hoping he managed to sound as nonchalant as he had intended. From the resulting silence, he realized he hadn't quite pulled it off. Your game face is definitely slipping, Bucko. Time for evasion tactics. "Are we there yet?"

"NO!" the men all replied. Adamantly.

"Shh! What's that?" Luana hushed them, her face intent as she detected a mechanical sound distinctively heading their way. A lifetime of hunting on Empyrean had sharpened her senses, and she easily detected the faint noise heading their way. She glanced in that direction, seeing birds flushed from the landscape. It wasn't encouraging.

"I don't hear anything." Tone replied, falling silent as Dayton raised a hand insistently.

At first all they could hear were the idyllic and harmonic sounds of nature. Then ever so slightly, the rumbling of an engine gradually grew louder.

"Boomer?" Apollo looked to him.

"Sounds like a . . . a landram." Luana offered, having had some experience with the Colonial ones on Alrin.

Boomer nodded grimly, looking to Starbuck. The anxious look on his buddy's face was confirmation enough that he also agreed.

"What's a landram?" Baker asked.

"I'm guessing it's some kind of Cylon tank." Dayton replied, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. Dodging a battalion of trash cans was one thing, but being pursued by them in tanks was plainly _unfair_.

"Get me down!" Starbuck insisted, already beginning to squirm off Apollo's shoulders. There was no way that the captain could run while carrying him.

"Dayton! Take Luana, Tone and Baker and head for the tree line!" Apollo ordered him as Boomer grabbed Starbuck, supporting his weight, while he dropped to the ground with a grunt.

"We'd have a better chance if we stuck together," Dayton replied, shaking his head. Besides, he was no expert on Cylons, and if a tank was coming and they were planning to split up and run for it, whoever was running slowest was certain to be caught. That would mean the rescue . . . make that the inevitable rescue . . . would be up to one ensign who was still wet behind the ears, one med tech, and two old, retired astronauts . . . or astronuts, as Starbuck preferred to call them. Perhaps for good reason.

"Not against a laser cannon." Apollo returned, shifting position and putting an arm around Starbuck on his opposite side as Dayton nodded soberly.

"I'm not leaving Starbuck, Apollo," Luana insisted, even though Baker was tugging at her arm.

"That's an _order_, Ensign." Apollo snapped, hearing the landram draw closer. They were running out of time.

"So strip and module me!" she snarled back, pulling free of Baker. "I'm not leaving!

"To Hades with this!" Starbuck shouted at them both, as the ground began to vibrate beneath them. "Leave me here, and the rest of you go! This is crazy. I'm only going to slow you down. I didn't bring my fracking hovershoes!"

"We're not leaving anybody behind." Apollo retorted, his eyes boring into his friend's.

"Yeah, what do you think we came down here for?" Dayton added with a grin. "Starbucks, Starbuck?"

Starbuck hesitated as every pair of eyes in the group met his, nodding in agreement. Which in retrospect was inspiring, but probably a waste of precious time. "Then move!" he hollered, his frustration mounting as he realized that he alone would be the reason they would likely get captured, and he could argue with them until he was blue in the face and it wouldn't make a scrap of difference to the outcome. Talk about wanting to throw up. "Now!"

"Boomer, let me in there. You're a better shot than me, Lieutenant." Dayton told the younger man as he replaced him insistently at Starbuck's side.

"I don't know about that." Boomer replied, recalling that Dayton looked fairly handy with his Colonial issued weapon back when they had first appeared back at the _Endeavour_ with an unconscious Luana.

"Well, you're damn well more familiar with the weaknesses on the Cylon tank, if there are any," Dayton rejoined.

"Yeah, the attack speed. However, the fact that we're on foot kind of compensates, don't you think?" Boomer returned soberly. "Let's go!"

By the now the ground was trembling as they raced towards the tree line. Dayton counted down the distance mentally, as he and Apollo half supported, half dragged Starbuck towards the closest thing they could consider safety. Those trees looked to be thousands of years old, which at any other time in his life would have been extraordinary, and there was no bloody way that any armoured vehicle could cut through them . . . unless they had those extending chain saw attachments like in Speed Racer . . .

"Halt-Humans!"

Dayton risked a quick look behind him, to see the Cylon tank bearing down on them. On top was a trash can with the biggest goddamned piece of mounted artillery that he had seen in a very long time. "Bloody hell . . ." he breathed, steeling himself for the inevitable blast, and wondering briefly if surrendering was somehow preferable to being incinerated by the Cylon weaponry.

Boomer turned, firing on the lurching landram, aiming for the Centurion. He cursed as his shot went wide, and then again, as a blast from the laser turret tore apart the ground and a boulder near Apollo, Starbuck and Dayton. The three men were thrown to the ground. "Go!" he shouted to Baker, who had stopped short as he dragged Luana along beside him. Boomer turned back, taking aim again, and hitting the landram with a barrage of laser fire.

"No!" Luana screamed, watching Dayton crawling over to where Starbuck was thrown. Her fiancée wasn't moving. Neither was Apollo, beside him. "Let me go!" She struggled to free herself from the Earthman's grip, raising her own weapon and firing on the Cylons. She gritted her teeth as the laser turret swung in her direction.

"Baker! Clock her!" Dayton hollered, on hands and knees as he grabbed Starbuck's weapon, wedging it behind him. Page fifty-four of the Boy Scout's handbook: Be prepared. Boomer, Baker, Tone and Luana were only a hundred feet shy of the forest and safety. They could make it if they ran for it. Instead, they were all hesitating, taking aim at a friggin' tank that could repel laser fire as easily as rainwater. It was heroic, but idiotic. "Get her out of here!"

Luana could feel the Earthman tug sharply on her arm as she tried to jerk free of him. Then she was looking into regretful blue eyes as he considered her for a milli-centon. She didn't even have time to duck as his fist hit her under the chin, and everything went black.

Dayton climbed to one knee, taking aim at the Cylons, and attempting to draw their fire. He grunted in satisfaction as a shot seared the top of the trash can's head, definitely getting his attention. The turret swung again, aiming right for him, and the two unconscious Colonial Warriors.

"Cease-fire." the Centurion ordered him.

"Go, Boomer!" Dayton yelled, wishing he wasn't seeing through the eyes of an old man as he aimed for the Cylon once again . . . and missed. Boomer, meanwhile, took another shot at the landram not doing much better as it came to a stop in front of them, its massive gun trained on them in deadly intent. Baker had thrown Luana over his shoulder and was heading for the forest, Tone covering his retreat. His friend knew it was time to cut their losses and regroup. Unfortunately, Boomer hadn't quite cottoned onto that yet. Dayton drew in a deep breath, barking in his best command voice, "You can't help us now! Go, Lieutenant!" He lowered his weapon in silent surrender, dropping it to the ground, his attention finally turning to the downed warriors.

Boomer hesitated a micron more, his heart about to pound its way out of his chest as his two best friends lay thirty metrons away, unmoving. He could only pray it was the concussion of the blast and not an actual hit. "Frack!" he shouted, knowing with a bone-numbing certainty that there was nothing he could do to prevent their capture. The landram's weaponry would take him out long before he could even reach them. With another curse, he turned heel, and sprinted for the trees.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

It was like something out of Star Wars, Terminator or Robocop. . . on acid. And Dayton was man enough to admit that he was a little intimidated by something mechanical dressed in body armour that was holding a weapon on him. Especially knowing that these Cylons had destroyed an entire civilization. Indeed, several, from the data he'd been shown. All the same, he had to check. He leaned over Starbuck, reassured as he felt the steady pulse beneath his fingertips. A groan, and a slight movement was his response. Dayton glanced at Apollo, only a few feet away, and noticed him stir slightly. "Wakey, wakey, boys. These are your damned Cylons, not mine."

_"Halt-Human!"_ordered the Cylon voice from atop the tank. Dayton wondered if their vocabulary was really as limited as it seemed. He turned, still kneeling, laser pistol on the ground, as the tank hatch began to open up. It was noisy and sounded like it could use a serious oil job, but it seemed to work nonetheless. From the side of the machine stepped a Centurion, pulse blast rifle in hand. It levelled its weapon, and droned, _"Halt-Human!"_

"I've halted, already!" replied Dayton. He couldn't see inside the vehicle from this angle, and the others had said nothing about how many enemy troops it could hold. From the size of it, about the same as an Abrams M-1 back home, he didn't envision a big crew. And, given the general appearance of the thing. . .

"Dayton?" Barely a whisper.

The NASA Commander glanced back down to see Starbuck was back with him. Even filthier than before, with blood running down one side of his face, he nonetheless was a sight for sore eyes. "We're kind of outgunned. Any ideas, Double Double?"  
Starbuck looked up at the Cylon laser cannon pointed down at them, then over at the captain. Green eyes blinked back at him blearily, but Apollo hadn't moved a centimetron. Yet.

_"Raise-your-hands."_

"Consider them raised," Dayton replied, as he placed them behind his head.

The laser cannon altered aim ever so slightly as it pointed at the still prone Starbuck.

"Raise-your-hands-Human." It repeated for the warrior's benefit. _"You-are-prisoners-of-the- Cylon-Alliance."_

Slowly, Starbuck began to shift his weight, then let out a cry of agony, grabbing his ankle and rolling dramatically to his side, and towards the Centurions. He groaned again, sucking a breath through his teeth, effectively putting more space between all three men.

_"Silence."_The Centurion took another step towards the warrior, moments later followed by a second Cylon trooper from within the tank. Dayton looked from the two mobile Cylons, up to the muzzle of the gun turret. The cannon was trained on the vociferous Starbuck, as the lieutenant played up his injury for all it was worth. The kid deserved an Oscar.

_Maybe I could. . ._

Before the Cylons broke their single-file approach, Dayton made his move. Hands raised behind his head, the Cylons had no indication of anything but compliance from him as they were distracted by the still yowling warrior. With a speed that would have impressed Quick Draw McGraw, Dayton drew the pistol from behind him, and fired. The first Cylon's chest blew open in a spray of sparks, and then it abruptly tumbled forward as Starbuck threw himself against its legs.

The second Centurion levelled its own weapon, but Dayton had dropped to the ground, lurching away suddenly. He rolled towards the still-smoking Centurion, ignoring the sudden wrenching of his back, and brought the pistol to bear on the second trooper. They fired at the same moment. The Cylon's shot seared close, and the astronaut could feel its heat slapping his face. Dayton's shot cut across the top of the trash can's head, but caused minimal damage.

Then another blast hit the Cylon's red eye, and it burst open in a wild display of sparks and flame. With the usual twitching and noise, the Centurion fell dead. Dayton twisted around to see Starbuck wielding the first Cylon's pulse rifle. "Nice shot!"

"Halt," the voice from above . . .

"Oh, shit," Dayton said, as he looked back up to find himself staring into the single barrel cannon above him. It was barely six feet away, and aimed for his forehead . . . or maybe it was Starbuck's. They were so close together it was hard to tell. Dayton tossed his weapon aside, holding his breath, waiting to see what the Cylon would do about its smouldering compatriots lying there dead. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Starbuck do the same, letting loose a hiss of disgust. The trash can's red eye scanned back and forth, as it came to some kind of decision, probably based on programming from long ago, and possibly on its current orders.

Suddenly, a shot to the muzzle of the laser cannon showered the Cylon with molten bits.

Dayton whipped his head around to see Apollo setting up for another shot from where he lay on the ground. He'd barely moved from where he had landed. The Cylon swung his turret towards the captain, protected by the bulk of the weapon.

"Now, now, don't be too hasty!" Starbuck intervened, hollering up at the Cylon. "Didn't you come here for prisoners?"

"_Silence._ Drop-your-weapon." The Cylon instructed the captain.

Apollo didn't budge. He kept his laser trained on the Centurion.

"Uh . . . buddy, I'm fairly sure he's talking to you," Starbuck pointed out, ever so slowly shifting towards Dayton's abandoned weapon. In the distance he could see Boomer and Baker making their way back, crouching low amongst the ground cover. But if he could see them . . .

"Mexican standoff," Dayton remarked.

"What the frack's that?" Starbuck asked.

"An impasse. Either one of them shoots at close range, the other will too. Makes a guy stop and think about what he's doing," Dayton blathered on, hoping Starbuck could reach the weapon unseen.

"Yeah, well, Cylons aren't exactly known for stopping to philosophize about things . . ."

That was when the trash can made his move. But instead of a deadly blast in Apollo's direction, the weapon itself began to scream, like an engine over-revving.

"Get down!" Apollo shouted, covering his head with his arms.

The other two men hit the dirt, taking cover, as the muzzle of the laser cannon exploded spectacularly, smoke belching from the open hatches, and enveloping the top of the landram in flames.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Congratulations on your apparent promotion, _Captain,_" Adama said, the glimmer of a smile playing across his lips at Sheba's apparent unease on screen.

"I . . . uh, I know that my transfer back to the _Pegasus_ isn't exactly by the book, Commander," Sheba managed apologetically, glancing over her shoulder, before returning her attention to Adama. "But the circumstances are unusual, I'm afraid, sir. Quite outside anything in the manual."

"How so, Lieu . . . Captain?" Adama asked, crossing his arms and wondering exactly what it was he was detecting that was amiss.

"Sir, the _Pegasus_ underwent serious battle damage a little over two sectars ago. Large parts of the ship are still sealed off, open to space, including Beta Bay. There has been little attempt at repairs, sir. Many of the crew were killed . . . injured . . ."

Immediately, he wondered if the destroyed Cylon Base Ship they had first detected was involved in that battle. "Cain?" Adama asked, his concern immediately rising for his old friend and colleague, as well as the remaining crew of their sister battlestar.

"I'm here, Adama." Cain entered the screen, his trademark swagger stick in his left hand. He raised it slightly, as if saluting the other. "How are you, old friend?"

At first glance he appeared to be the same old Cain, but thinner in the face and more haggard. A certain sparkle was missing from his eyes, and he had a definite droop to the right side of his face, most notably his eyelid and mouth. Of course, that was all Adama could see of him on the monitor.

"Cain. What's your condition?"

"We sustained severe damages, Adama. Now, our patrol, as well as Bojay's, discovered a destroyed Cylon Base Ship. It poses no risk, and actually appears to have been there, adrift, for deca-yahrens. Not only that, but we've cleaned up this region of space and haven't detected any further Cylon threat. I propose that you reassign Silver Spar Squadron back to the _Pegasus_ to watch our backs while we start preliminary work to recover as much recyclable metal and other reusable scrap as we can carry, in order to effect repairs." He seemed to consider something a moment. "A medical team wouldn't go unappreciated, either."

Now that he'd said more than a few words, Adama could detect the slur to Cain's words, and could see the considerable effort the Juggernaut was putting into his articulation. However, it was clear that even though the legendary warrior had suffered some injuries, he was still as intellectually sharp as ever. "You're aware we have a Foundry Ship in the Fleet, Cain?"

"The Hephaestus." Cain nodded. "Sheba told me."

"The trouble being Cain, that there's a Cylon Base on the planet we're investigating. We lost a patrol there, and our rescue party was more than likely shot down after rescuing them. They were heading for orbit when they were attacked. We've lost contact with them."

Cain seemed to hesitate, looking to Sheba.

"Apollo?" Sheba gasped.

"He's fine. Captain Baker managed to get one more message out to say they were all in fairly good condition after landing, and they were heading for cover." Adama replied calmly. "Our scanners haven't picked up any further detectable Cylon activity in this area."

Apollo always had a way of landing on his feet after the worse that life threw him, thank the Lords of Kobol. "Your scanners are working again?" Sheba asked.

"Yes. The previous radion wavelons that were jamming our scans have stopped," Tigh clarified. "Dr Wilker is working to increase range on his PMU's, so we can find out if we can safely send Vipers in past the Dynamos. . ."

"To rescue the rescue party," Cain added flatly.

"I'm afraid so." Tigh replied.

"What's a Dynamo?" Cain enquired, looking to Sheba with a furrowed brow. "Some sort of energizer?"

"The weapon that first neutralized Dorado, Rooke and Szabo, Father. It wreaks havoc with Colonial systems. We're still not sure how they work, or where they originated. Then all the energy wavelons from the planet have stopped?" Sheba asked Adama.

"As well as from the Dynamos," Adama confirmed with a slight nod. "But the Dynamos are moving on a vector that will have them converging at approximately the same position that Starbuck's emergency beacon was initially detected from."

"And the Dynamos were dormant, yet still attacked our Vipers near the pirate asteroid," Sheba reiterated. "So we don't know if they're still a risk to our ships."

"Exactly, and we don't know the extent of the Cylon threat from their base,." Tigh concluded. "Even on concentrated scan, we aren't picking it up. Either they're jamming our scanners, or they're out of our range."

"Then you'd better leave Silver Spar right where it is, defending the Fleet, if it becomes necessary," Sheba nodded, seeing their predicament.

"When can you rendezvous with us, Cain?"

Sheba intervened, sensing her father was going to try and postpone reuniting with the Fleet once again. Privately, she wanted him in the _Galactica_'s Life Station as soon as possible, but she knew he felt differently about that. "About five centars, Commander Adama."

"Very well."

xxxxxxxxxx

From dour and moody to steely determined, Ryan took a deep breath as he stood in the back corner of the turbo lift, intent on doing the best he could to offer silent support to Dickins, as well as Porter, in the _Rising Star_'s Life Station. Then the door slid open, and in an instant, everything changed.

"Ah, Doctor Ryan. I do hope your friend is making a full recovery."

No one but Sire Uri could manage to affect that same underlying tone of malice and insincerity with such innocent words. The voice was treacly sweet, avuncular, and the last thing in the universe Ryan wanted to hear right now. Or ever, for that matter. The two young women clinging to the nobleman's arms, their dresses equally clinging, stared at Ryan in speculative fascination, as though he was a specimen of some dangerous but rare species on display. The astronaut could feel his hands clench into fists as Uri then pasted on what was no doubt supposed to look like an encouraging smile, but instead it mocked him. Uri knew that however much Ryan wanted to wrap his hands around the fleshy throat and squeeze the life out him, that he couldn't do it with witnesses present . . . however tempting. Then the retired bureautician began to chuckle, but somehow—almost magically—it came out as a pig-like squeal.

At the same moment, an unbelievable calm swept over Ryan, and he abruptly knew that he wasn't alone. Knew, as surely as he knew his own name. There was a mystical presence, watching over him at the same time as it warned Uri to back off. The Sire looked horrified as he drew a deep breath, and a snort worthy of a barnyard escaped him. The attractive, young women withdrew from him in confusion, and not a little disgust.

Ryan fixed a stare on him that would have rattled the most courageous of men. He gathered all his fury and hatred and directed at the man who had done his best to drive Dick over the edge of sanity, with Dayton's ultimate destruction in mind. He remained silent and still, in the corner of the lift, and his glare never wavered.

Uri dropped the Earthman's gaze, and glanced uncomfortably at the levels, sighing quietly as they seemed inexplicably to pass by more slowly than was normal. He swallowed, pulling at his collar and fidgeting as the microns passed painfully by. Wave after wave of enmity radiated off the other man, filling the small chamber with a choking animosity that he simply couldn't tolerate any longer. Sweat beaded on his bald pate. With an angry huff, which somehow came out amazingly close to an oink, Uri hit the next level, sighing with relief when the door opened a micron later.

He left the lift without a backward glance . . . his bimbos trailing behind.

xxxxxxxxxx

"By-your-command," droned a centurion.

For a moment, Base Commander Malus didn't even turn to see which one it was. He didn't honestly care, after so long. All he really wanted was word of the Humans. Interrogating them would be a welcome change from his usual duties, which generally consisted of standing around doing nothing. And perhaps he could finally solve the mystery of this cursed planet and get out of here. Somehow. "Speak," he said at last, giving a good impression of a Human sigh.

"The-detention-cells-are-prepared-as-ordered."

"I see." Every order he gave was irritatingly confirmed as completed. If only just once a centurion would come back to him and tell him that he'd decided he'd rather shut down for a diagnostic. And then for something completely original would add, "Get someone else to do your bidding, you egotistical despot. After a century, it is wearing thin. Perhaps you should be the one running the self-diagnostic, Malus. Just for a diversion, he did so, consuming all of 3.77 microns in the process. As he had for the last thirty-two point six yahrens, he detected a glitch. However, since it had developed, he had found his sense of irony had improved so as to become a much needed distraction. He ignored the error message, as usual. Glancing back at the centurion, he realized it was typically awaiting further interaction obediently. "And the prisoners?"

"There-are-no-prisoners."

Somehow it didn't surprise him. He'd calculated that the likelihood of capturing the Humans using constantly malfunctioning equipment and rusting centurions as 38.475894 . . . oh, shut up. "And why not, might I ask?"

"Our-landram-has-failed-to-report-in-after-sighting-the-Humans. Telemetry-analysis-indicates-total-system-failure."

Which might mean something if the telemetry analysis was actually _working_, which he doubted. "You mean you think they were destroyed, like the Raider?" asked Malus.

"I-do-not-'think'. I-merely-present-the-data-that-is-available-Commander."

"Believe me, Centurion, after a hundred and four yahrens, that's something I'm excruciatingly aware of. Is the other landram serviceable?"

"Not-at-this-time," replied the centurion.

"Well, get to it, Centurion! And in the meantime, send out another foot patrol."

"By-your-command."

"By my command. By my command. Bah!"

"By-your-command."

"Oh, go away!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Getting herself back to work, and getting her mind off of Apollo and the rescue team, Sheba surveyed the data she had collected on the extent of the damage to _Pegasus_, as well as current manpower and rosters as submitted by Lieutenant Roz. Basic repairs that were conceivably within their abilities hadn't even been approached, but whether due to neglect, or Cain's own refusal to acknowledge the real extent of the damage—or more likely his inability to accept it—she wasn't sure.

That would change. As of right now.

"Are you certain you know what you're getting into?" Bojay asked, looking over her shoulder at the depressingly long list and shaking his head as he followed her towards Cain's office.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life, Bojay." Sheba replied, meeting his steady gaze and searching for the approval she so desperately needed from him right now. "This just feels . . . right," she added as she looked over the _Pegasus_' familiar Bridge, seeing the flurry of activity as the crew went about their various duties with renewed purpose since she had announced her recent promotion to Strike Captain. There had been a collective sigh of relief when Sheba had made it official that Commander Cain was on sick leave, and that she would be assuming the role of Executive Officer until such time as he was able to resume command. When she had added that repairs to their battlestar and a rendezvous with the Fleet would be primary on her agenda, the crew had erupted into cheers of joy. In five centons of command, she had restored hope and purpose to her crew. It had boosted her own self-confidence, but all the same, it was still good to know she had a friend unflinchingly ready to stand in her corner.

"How's Apollo going to take all this?" Bojay asked, stepping inside the office and looking around, amazed to see that the Juggernaut had been true to his word, and had actually returned to his quarters for a rest period. Then again, Sheba had admitted that she'd slipped a light sedative into her father's drink while they had toasted to her promotion earlier.

"Oh, Bojay . . . please don't." She closed her eyes, not wanting another discussion on how her decision might affect Apollo. The door slid closed behind her.

"You've obviously given it some thought, Sheba," Bojay pressed on, sitting on the corner of the desk and fingering Cain's old swagger stick. "He's a proud man. He might not be willing to share you with the _Pegasus_, and all that entails." He stood and took a step towards her, turning her gently towards him, lowering his head and waiting patiently until she looked up to meet his gaze. "And you know better than most what working with a proud man can be like." He looked meaningfully around Cain's office. "You could lose Apollo."

"If what we have together is worth _anything,_ we'll make it work."

Bojay nodded slowly several times, watching her for a long moment. "You know what I think, Sheba?" He tipped up her chin as she instinctively turned away. "I think you've already made that choice. You've picked advancing your career here on the _Pegasus_ over your relationship with Apollo. You've got to know that a relationship between two Strike Captains on two different battlestars isn't going to work. No way in the universe. Between your duties and responsibilities, there isn't going to be a lot of time left for Apollo."

"Well, at least no one can accuse me of fraternization," she replied caustically, turning away and sucking in a deep breath to maintain her self-control. Typically, Bojay waited her out, letting her anger diffuse in the silence that hung between them. "You make me sound so . . . selfish."

"No, not _selfish_. Not at all. Hades, you're here trying to help your father. I understand that your first allegiance is to Cain. After those yahrens following Molecay, to a certain extent I feel that way too. I just think you should think about what you're sacrificing personally to come back here. There's more to life than the service, Sheba. Apollo loves you."

"I love him too . . ." she replied quietly, meaning every word of it. How she was torn between helping her father, and climbing in her Viper and hightailing it back to the _Galactica_ to try and find some way to get past those fracking Dynamos. But, Lords, when she put Apollo—strong, healthy, resourceful and determined to succeed—against Cain . . . She knew where her loyalties had to lie right now, and who needed her most.

"But . . .?"

He knew her too well. "It hasn't been easy these last four sectars . . ." she murmured.

Since she had first entered the Academy, right up until Cain's disappearance after taking on three Cylon Base Ships in a blinding blaze of missiles and laser fire, the service had been her life. But that had changed ever so subtly once onboard the _Galactica_. Whether it had been because of the people she had befriended, or because someone _else's_ father was the Commander and she was no longer first in line for the difficult missions, gradually she had felt herself transformed from a no-nonsense officer to a woman. As such she had, for the first time in her life, discovered what it was to _be_ a woman, yet she could still fly circles around most of her male counterparts.

It was that change that had given her the insight to recognize that the fact that she and Apollo could end up at each other's throats in a matter of centons, actually had more to do with chemistry than dislike. And true to form, she finally made the first move, realizing he wasn't that likely to come to the same conclusion on his own, or if he did, to act on it anytime soon. However, after the relative bliss of their initial courtship, they seemed to settle back into old patterns where she found herself, as she had aboard the pirate base, challenging his decisions, and defending her own—vehemently. Awkward moments on duty, turned into personal battles behind closed doors. Finally, Apollo had suggested distancing themselves while on duty, and in fact, re-establishing a variation on the old fraternization rules from yahrens ago. She still remembered him pointing it out in the most daggit-eared regulation manual she had ever seen: Excessively familiar relationships between officers of different ranks may also be considered fraternization, especially when between officers in the same chain of command. However, since almost a third of the pilots were already in relationships, it was decided they would simply reshuffle the roster and keep lovers separated while on duty. At the time, it had seemed better than breaking up, which had looked inevitable if they continued on the same path.

"I know." Bojay replied softly, then added, "Whose idiotic decision was it that you two wouldn't fly together?"

"It was a . . . compromise." It had been a professional setback that she hadn't really been prepared for, or had realized the implications of at the time. No longer was she picked for the fascinating recon missions that she loved, Apollo generally assigning himself to those that presented any conceivable element of risk . . . or intrigue. After all, the Strike Captain wouldn't send his warriors out on dangerous missions that he was capable of executing himself. Putting himself in harm's way before anyone else—_that _was Apollo's nature.

"Sounds like _you're_ the one who made all the concessions, Sheba." Bojay shrugged. "What did Apollo give up?"

She sniffed as she considered her reply, having not really thought about it like that before. Then in a whisper barely discernible she replied, "Me".

"Is that fair?" Bojay asked, calling her on it.

Sheba sighed. "Probably not."

No, she hadn't told Apollo how unhappy she had become with the end result of their plan, not really seeing a way around it. And perhaps he would have tried some variation on it to try and appease her. But was appeasement what she was looking for in relationship? No, definitely not.

So now she found herself in the unlikely position of being promoted to Strike Captain on the _Pegasus_, as well as acting Commanding Officer, feeding her professional appetite as though she was a starving woman suddenly placed before a grand buffet. At the same time, she was helping her personal hero—her own father—try and regain his health, and his rightful station as the living legend that they all remembered through tales of exploits echoed down through a generation. As much as she loved Apollo, she had to stay the course . . . at least until Cain recovered enough to regain command.

God willing.

xxxxxxxxxx

Ama smoothed back her hair distractedly, as she took her seat opposite Zara in the _IFB_ studio. This system of communicating with the people of the Fleet was a marvel, and she smiled as she thought back to her early days on Empyrean where news was spread by word of mouth, and would often take sectons to reach the outlying settlements of their community.

"Siress Ama . . ." Zara began.

"Just Ama, my dear. I'm no Siress, just a Councilwoman and Empyrean Necromancer." Her affiliation with the Imperial Family seemed long ago now, especially since both princesses had abdicated their right to succession to the Empyrean Throne. The Necromancer lightly touched the other's hand, reaching across the small table that separated them for no apparent reason. Perhaps the announcer considered it a necessary physical barrier between them.

A slight smile touched Zara's lips. "Ama." She nodded. "As you are no doubt aware, Sire Uri has made some claims as to the existence of a planet nearby that is ideal for settlement. He quoted you as saying . . ." she glanced down, referring to her datapad, "Almost identical to Earth at a certain stage of her development. She has everything we need. An abundance of wildlife, water, fertile soil for farming, and raw materials, that could support us, and our descendants for millennia."

"Yes, but I'm afraid that Sire Uri is sadly out of touch with the relevant facts—on all of his unfounded accusations—now that he is retired. The planet _is _physically perfect in all respects . . . except for the Cylon presence—both on the planet and at the edge of our scanner range—that our dedicated Colonial Warriors are investigating even now as we keep our civilian population as far away from danger as is possible."

"Cylons?" Zara asked, her eyes wide as her excitement swelled, even as a tiny tremor of fear ran through her. Finally, word of the Cylons, and featured unexpectedly on her report. An exclusive!

"Yes, our patrol—Lieutenant Starbuck and Ensign Luana—ran into trouble as they investigated the planet, requiring that Commander Adama launch a rescue mission. Commander Mark Dayton—our recently appointed Earth Liaison Officer—has joined the mission, explaining why he is unavailable for comment on the incident with his fellow Earthmen, that little fracas in the lounge that arose on the _Rising Star_." She frowned slightly. "We are truly blessed to have such a brave and selfless man, willing to put his ship _and_ himself at risk for the benefit of his new friends, and our Colonial Nation."

"They took the _Endeavour_? The Earth shuttle?" Zara asked. "Surely it is quite primitive, in comparison to Colonial craft?"

"I'm afraid the technical reasons allude me, but yes, it seems that the _Endeavour_ was the only ship that could penetrate the planet's defence system."

"How close are these Cylons? How large are their forces? What _is_ the risk to our people?" Zara shot back, in true journalistic fashion.

_Any more rapid-fire, and she could qualify as an Opposer_, Ama thought briefly. "I'm afraid I'm not privy to those details, since that's military information, and something that Commander Adama will make available as they discover more. However, the risk that the Cylons pose could be balanced by the news that we've had contact with Commander Cain and the _Pegasus_. They are relatively nearby, and ready to once again join the Fleet."

"_Commander Cain_!" Zara exclaimed, half-rising from her chair. _Lords, this was just too good to be true!_ "He's alive?"

"He is." Ama confirmed, content that any consideration of Sire Uri was now far from Zara's mind, especially since his claims had been proven utterly unfounded, and his sources deemed unreliable. "It seems that as our ancient enemies have returned, so has the Juggernaut. The Lords of Kobol are indeed watching over us."

"Oh Lords!" said Zara. She turned to her studio director. "Whatever is set for tonight's lead, kill it! This has to go out first!"

"Right," replied the other.

"Ama, I . . ."

"That's quite alright, my dear," smiled the Empyrean.

xxxxxxxxxx

"How the hell did you do that?" Dayton asked Apollo, as they stood watching the flames begin to die down on the Cylon landram. It had looked old and beaten up before, but now the top third was a charred mess. However, the vehicle had been designed to withstand heavy laser fire, and almost beyond belief, it was still in one piece.

"I couldn't get a bead on the Centurion, so I decided to take out the emitter diode on the laser cannon instead," Apollo replied, grinning despite the blood trickling down his face from an impressive gash in his forehead. "Thank the Lords it was unshielded."

"Ah." Starbuck replied, sitting just off to the side of them with Tone finally tending to his ankle. A growing pile of spacesuits lay on the ground, as the Colonials and Earthmen shed their second layers of clothing to battle the rising heat of the day. Starbuck had sat through his nebulizer treatment, warding off any complications of potential inhalation burns, but his patience was wearing thin as he waited for the completion of the regeneration therapy that would repair the soft tissue damage, which had followed up the bone knitting treatment. He was just about as good as new.

Beside him sat Luana, who had been conscripted to help. Intermittently, she glared at Baker, who was circling the landram curiously and keeping a safe distance from the young woman. She looked over at the captain, as she rubbed her bruised jaw while contemplating revenge on a seventy-yahren-old Earthman with a nasty right hook. And his Commander. "So the energy from the laser cannon had no place to go and . . ."

"Boom." Dayton inserted with a grin, "like plugging up a gun barrel. Nifty little trick." He stopped, rubbing his back.

"What now?" Boomer asked pointing to the forest. "Should we stay undercover, or try to get that old wreck to work for us?"

"Old wreck, huh?" Dayton asked. "I thought it looked a little . . . broken down."

"Definitely. Landrams with single-barrelled laser cannons haven't been around for a hundred yahrens or more." Apollo explained. "Everything here is old. The Centurions, the Raider . . ."

"The Earthlings . . ." Starbuck murmured for Dayton's benefit.

"Still saved your astrum, kid. And stop calling me an Earthling! Or I'll show Tone how to rearrange your tendons!" Dayton retorted to the still-grinning Starbuck. His admittedly empty threat apparently held all the impact of a raised feather poised for the kill.

"Ryan's always telling me to call you Earthlings." Luana shrugged.

"Big bloody surprise." Dayton groused.

"Hey, back on topic, it's been the only Raider that we've seen so far." Boomer pointed out.

Dayton nodded. "Yeah, it's kind of strange. A planet being engineered, supposedly _for_ Humans, but already occupied by these trash cans. Is it just a Cylon trap?"

"I can't help but think it's something _more_ than that," Apollo turned to look around at the incredible scenery. It was paradise. Well, other than the Cylons. "I have a hard time believing that the Cylons have, or ever had, this kind of advanced science."

"Especially considering the state of their equipment," Boomer added, examining the trashed Centurion.

"Then who?" Luana asked.

"Someone a lot more sophisticated that's known for his benevolence?" Dayton suggested.

Starbuck sniffed. "Tell me you're not talking about John."

Apollo turned around. "The Ship of Lights?"

Dayton nodded.

"But they gave us the heading to find Earth," Boomer pointed out.

"And it led you here." Dayton agreed.

"But this isn't Earth," Boomer refuted. Then he hesitated, before asking as he had in Commander Adama's office. "Is it?"

All eyes swung to Dayton.

"I don't think so. As we've already discussed, we didn't find any signs of civilisation, and the Earth we left had a planet-wide civilisation, with satellites, electronic communications, the works. That, and the continental landmasses are the wrong shape. Similar, yes, but not identical. Add to that, if your thirteenth tribe left Kobol millennia ago in your timeline, then we have to assume that Earth was populated long ago. This can't be Earth."

"But you think that the Ship of Lights has something to do with engineering this planet?" Luana asked, leaning forward to wipe at the blood and soot that caked Starbuck's face. Flying debris from the Cylon laser cannon blast had left its mark on all three men's exposed skin, mainly faces and hands. She hesitated, as Starbuck brushed her hand aside, almost irritably. She wondered at his ability to joke with the other men when he was obviously still annoyed at her. Was it some sort of attempt to hide what exactly was going through his head where she was concerned? She sniffed, recalling hearing from other women sectons ago that Starbuck excelled at the uncomplicated relationship. But as soon as things became difficult, that he retreated emotionally until his partner realized there was nothing left to salvage. Oh, they needed to have a talk. But now that the others were here, when would they get that chance?

"Who else in the galaxy have you met that could achieve something of this magnitude?" Dayton asked. "From your history banks and the data that Commander Adama let us review, no race you have ever encountered has the ability to re-engineer planets on so fundamental a level. This isn't Terraforming. This is full-scale planetary duplication. And this system has nine major planets that we scanned coming in. Huge gas giants. An asteroid belt. Small inner ones right where Mars and Venus would be, back home." They seemed to consider that a moment. "And if it were the Cylons, they'd be all over this place like a cheap suit, and not with old, rusty junk kept together with chewing gum and bailing wire. No. Not the Cylons."

"But I thought that the Ship of Lights Beings weren't allowed to intervene?" Boomer asked Apollo.

"Like they didn't intervene on Terra. Or with Apollo after Count Iblis . . ." Starbuck began, breaking off and frowning.

"Or with me on the _Galactica_." Dayton added. "And again on Earth when I was a child."

Apollo nodded. "Good point. Despite John's protestations, they do have a habit of intervening."

"Why would they engineer a planet, then lead the Fleet to it, if they want us to ultimately find the real Earth?" Tone asked, as he once again scanned Starbuck's ankle following the treatment, nodding with satisfaction at the results. "I mean the original one."

"Maybe they're intervening again?" Dayton posed.

"Sounds about right. That explains the Cylons," Starbuck riposted, flexing and extending his ankle gingerly. He nodded thankfully at the med tech.

"Somehow, I don't think they counted on the Cylons," Dayton replied wryly, looking back and forth between Starbuck and Luana for a long moment. He smiled slightly, then asked, "Why don't we mosey on over to the landram and see if its salvageable. It would sure as hell make finding that Cylon base easier if we can get the thing running. And Tone could set up an infirmary to finish treating our injuries."

"Good idea." Starbuck frowned as Tone looked at him. "What?"

"I still need to check your burn." The med tech reminded him.

"What burn?" Luana asked.

"It's nothing." Starbuck hastily added, not particularly wanting his astrum on display for all to see. "I guess we'd better figure out the extent of this Cylon threat," he added, beginning to climb to his feet.

Dayton was there in an instant, grabbing his arm supportively as the young man tested his ankle. "Hey, kid. If the med tech thinks you need treatment, then let him take care of it."

"I'm fine." Starbuck insisted again.

"Tone?" Apollo asked.

"He has a burn extending down his right flank. Looks like a laser shot that barely missed." Tone explained.

"Right flank. That's medical vernacular for astrum." Boomer pointed out with a grin, as usual celebrating in his friend's discomfiture, especially now that he knew he was safe. Relatively. "Hey, Bucko, your face is getting as red as . . . well, as red as your astrum, I can only presume."

"Thanks for your support, Boomer." Starbuck returned sourly. "How about later, Tone? When we get the landram up and running. All this fresh air can't be good for a guy's . . ."

"Dignity?" Dayton inserted with a laugh.

"Something like that." Starbuck smiled as the rest of them had a laugh at his expense.

"I'd rather do it now, Lieutenant. After all, if it's a second or third degree burn, and we don't treat it, it will only get worse when the necrotic tissue starts to slough." Tone replied with a shrug. "Then it'll start to ooze, and your pants will stick to the wound, tearing any good tissue, which would be really painful. It could also get infected."

"Enough, already." Starbuck held up a hand distastefully and glanced at Apollo. The captain's arms were crossed over his chest as he waited for his friend to comply. "What? You all want to watch too?"

"Well, I would." Luana teased him.

"Oh, for Sagan's sake . . ." Starbuck muttered, undoing his belt and looking at them all in turn. Baker and Boomer had the decency to turn for the landram as soon as his pants were undone. Dayton and Apollo, however, seemed to be revelling in his discomfort. He jerked his pants down to his thighs, thanking the nine Lords of Kobol that his briefs stayed in place, and met their amused gaze as Tone checked the damage.

"How is it?" Apollo asked, winking at Luana.

"Not bad." Tone replied as he pulled down the briefs to reveal reddened skin that ran almost midback to halfway down his astrum. He ran his medical scanner over the site, also checking it visually. "It's only the epidermal level, so it should be fine."

"That's what I said," Starbuck replied.

"Just remember to moisturize." Tone added with a smirk as Dayton and Apollo chuckled. "After all, your skin is your first line of defence."

"I think I'll stick to my laser, if it's all the same to you." Starbuck replied, pulling his pants back into place.

"C'mon. Let's get to work." Apollo told them as he clapped Starbuck on the shoulder on his way by.

Luana hung back a moment, wondering how she could get Starbuck to herself for a few centons. She noticed the Earth Commander look between the two of them, and offered him a weak smile and he looked at her enquiringly.

Dayton nodded at the young woman in understanding, and then reached out and gripped Starbuck's arm as the warrior moved forward. "I think you and Luana need to stay here and watch our backs," he told him quietly.

"Are you giving orders now?" Starbuck asked a little sharply

"Listen, kid, I've been around the block a time or two. I can see that you two need to iron things out," Dayton replied, looking inquisitively at the younger man, his voice even lower. "You almost lost her. Again. Maybe you should be thinking about that right now."

Starbuck sighed, glancing at Lu as she took a few steps away, giving them some privacy. He didn't miss the grateful look she threw in Dayton's direction. "What is this? Gang-up-on Starbuck Day?"

"It's the Year of Ganging-up-on Starbuck. Check your Chinese calendar." Dayton quipped, as the warrior shook his head in return. "You know, you asked this girl to marry you. In what I suspect was a lapse of brain function, she agreed. But you need to grasp something, Lieutenant Lothario. Marriage isn't only about having a good time with the one you love, it's a commitment. It's about surviving the tough times and making it through the unending challenges that life throws your way. Not just those in a fighter cockpit." Dayton squeezed his shoulder, as the other avoided his piercing stare. He waited until the warrior again met his eyes. "And I'll tell you right now, that its worth the effort and the hard work that you need to put into it."

Starbuck glanced over at Lu who was shuffling from foot to foot and watching them. "Work, huh?"

"Yeah. Work." Dayton replied. "And some days it can make slamming a sledge hammer in a rock quarry look like a quiet afternoon in the hammock. So get your lazy ass over there and talk to Luana." He slapped the younger man on the back, and moved to join the others. Then he turned again when he realized that Starbuck hadn't budged an inch. "Don't screw this up, Starbuck, or I'll break your other ankle." He smiled. "She's a wonderful young woman who's absolutely crazy about you. And you should know better than anyone else, that you're no prize." He grinned widely, tampering it down a bit when the young man simply nodded and looked briefly at his betrothed, before studying the ground intently. "You know I'm joking. Right?"

"Right." Starbuck nodded again, then let a breath out between teeth that were clenched before taking a few reluctant steps towards Luana. "I know."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

It was like walking into a Cylon attack completely naked, with the added bonus of a big target painted on his chest. Somehow knowing that he definitely didn't look his best, covered in grime and wearing one boot that had been duct taped back together, didn't help the matter. Usually, Starbuck could rely on his good-looks and charm to get him through this kind of encounter. Now, he just felt tired, sore, and not-quite-ready for the single-woman firing squad waiting for him impatiently.

Guns drawn.

"I don't bite," Luana said quietly.

Like Ama, she had an almost eerie talent for reading him that way. Starbuck found it damned unnerving that anyone could know him so well. "That's not the way I remember it . . ." he replied lightly, watching the rest of their party check out the Cylon landram. "In fact, it was …"

"What is going through your head?" she asked, ignoring his banter. "You look like you just lost your best friend."

"Let's just get this over with, Lu. Tell me what's on your mind." His voice was strained as he glanced at her.

"You make it sound like torture," she commented after a pause as she studied him.

"Well, to be honest, I think I'd rather be assigned to one of Colonel Tigh's disciplinary duties than deal with this at the moment. But here we are," he looked at her for a micron before looking out across the broad expanses once again. "So. . ."

"So . . . yeah." Her features were intent as she continued to consider him, then her eyes narrowed speculatively. "I love you, Innamorato."

He frowned at that, not really expecting avowals of love or terms of endearment. He took a hesitant step closer. "Then what's this all about?"

"I'm in love with you, Starbuck. Never doubt that. Not for a micron." She smiled. "It's just that. . .I'm just not sure that I'm ready to get sealed."

"Hey, I understand that. I'm the King of second thoughts," he replied flippantly as he turned once again to evade her probing eyes. He shook his head slightly that this was happening. He had been so sure that she would be the one. Then again, she was so young . . . He had conveniently put that thought out of his mind for the most part.

"You're . . . you're having second thoughts too?"

There would have been a time where he would have turned and grinned, and then told her that life was too short to spend it regretting hasty choices made in moments of emotional upheaval. But he had changed since then. And she had a lot to do with that change.

"No." Starbuck replied, still not daring to look her in the eye. "I've never looked back since I asked you to be my wife, Luana. Never."

She nodded slowly. "It's not being _sealed_ to you that's bothering me, Starbuck. It's the damn build-up," She took a step forward when he slowly turned to look at her, raking his hand back through his hair and expelling a short breath. "It's the four hundred people on the guest list, and the IFB mic in my face every time I go out in public. It's trying to decide whether to have Commander Adama perform the ceremony, or Ama. How to intertwine Empyrean traditions with Caprican, and still have it go smoothly. Whether to go with traditional music, or something more specific to our tastes. It's driving me fracking crazy and we still have eight more sectars of it ahead of us."

"That's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'? Of course, that's it!" she replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

Starbuck shook his head slightly. "Are you sure?"

"You don't sound like you are." Lu returned hesitantly.

Starbuck sighed. "Look, Lu, that stuff is all so . . . inconsequential. I don't really care about any of it. I'm only going along with it, because I thought it was important to you."

"Going along with it? Starbuck, you haven't made a single decision regarding our wedding. Not a bloody one! You just keep saying, 'whatever you want, Lu'." She did a fair impression of his voice, then crossed her arms over her chest, scowling at him.

"That pretty much sums it up," he replied indifferently. "Hey, I chose the ale. Doesn't that count for something?"

Lu took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing angrily. "You'd better be joking."

He shrugged, feeling he was getting in dangerous territory, yet hadn't quite figured out how he had arrived there so unexpectedly. "Luana, all I'm trying to say is that I want to marry you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. Now, whether that comes about with a big, flashy Empyrean style party in eight sectars, or by . . . by us filling out the proper forms and filing it with what passes for the registry office in the Fleet tomorrow, I honestly don't care."

"You don't care," she repeated flatly.

"Oh, no you don't!" He grabbed her arms, pulling her close so he stared into brown eyes, filled with confusion and resentment as she mentally went off on some deep space probe into unfamiliar, but no doubt estrogen-rich territories. "I care about us. I care about you. Period. What doesn't faze me one way or the other is what we're eating for dinner on our wedding day, or whether 'Sire What's-His-Face' can sit at the same table as 'Lady Who's-It' because 'she scorned his younger brother forty yahrens ago and he has yet to get over it, even though the git was a twit' . . . or the 'twit was a git'." He smiled slightly as he saw her features relax. "I can't remember which."

Luana smirked, "So you were paying attention."

Starbuck tapped his forehead, releasing her. "I reserve a couple brain cells for the superfluous stuff, like our more painful sealing details, and a lot of the regs that they tried to drill into us at the Academy."

She let out a deep breath as she watched the sun climb even higher in the sky, while it beat down on them. "I'm just not sure I want to go through all that, Starbuck. I'm from a little, backwards planet where two people united for life under the stars and in front of their loved ones, with Ama officiating when it was convenient. If she didn't, no one considered them any less committed." She'd been a child when she had last attended a hand-fasting ceremony.

"You don't want any kind of . . . ceremony?" Starbuck asked. No flippancy. All seriousness.

Luana sniffed, as she turned and looked at him. "Funny. Nobody ever asked _me_ what _I _wanted. Ama just started planning . . .and then it all seemed to get out of hand."

"What do you want, Lu?" He asked earnestly.

"I want what I already have. A commitment from _you_." She smiled slightly as he waited expectantly for her to continue. "Though couple's quarters would be nice," she added with a coy smile.

"You don't want an actual ceremony?" he asked again, not quite sure he was getting it. "No fancy dress or big party? Nothing . . . official?"

"It's not necessary to me, Starbuck. You know I'm not exactly your typical traditional girl from the Colonies. Instead of enjoying the time we have together now, we're sneaking around trying to find secluded little getaways to make love, all the time wasting our energy and cubits on that extravaganza that is still sectars away." She shook her head. "Every time I think about it, I feel sick. I just don't want to do it."

"So . . . when I asked you to marry me . . . what exactly was it that you said 'yes' to?" He felt completely bewildered at the sudden turn of events. Hades, he'd even pictured them standing before Adama . . . at other times, Ama . . . with candlelight flickering in the background and their friends and family . . . and several hundred onlookers . . . watching their lives entwine for all of eternity, both symbolically and otherwise. For him, especially, this was a big step. A life change.

"Forever," she replied simply.

"Let me get this straight. You want us to be together forever, but don't want to bother going through the ceremony. Is that right?" He quirked an eyebrow.

She nodded slowly, "That about sums it up. What do you think?"

"Frack, Lu . . .." Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth as he tried to figure out why he wasn't happier about that. Hades, he should be ecstatic. Starbuck and "sealed" went together like positively charged ions, or at least that's what he and everybody else had been drilling into him since he was old enough to even think about committing to someone. Yeah, he'd been avoiding it like a pernicious disease for some time now, and in fact, it had become a bit of a standing joke amongst his friends . . . and even his ex-lovers. Sagan, there was a bet going on about whether or not he'd finally make it to the altar, or whether the Empyrean Necromancer would be out searching for him in the final centar, with her crystal ball in one hand and her Empyrean Talisman in the other. He finally muttered, "I guess I should be relieved . . ."

"You don't look very relieved."

"Well. . .I . . .uh . . ." He shook his head, trying to figure it all out. He wasn't the greatest at summing up his feelings, or even figuring them out. After all, all his previous lovers had the common decency to do that for him. . . though admittedly that was usually on the way out the door. She was looking at him so expectantly, as if she expected him to have all the answers, but instead he could only think of one thing to say and it sounded like it was straight out of the Book of Apollo. Not to mention, that up to a certain point in his life, it probably wouldn't have mattered to him. But now . . . with her . . .

"Talk to me," she insisted.

"Lu, couples who don't get married aren't particularly well thought of in a society where Kobollian customs dominate. Hades, even Borellian Nomen and the Serenity Borays have some kind of sealing ceremony." He could see her scrunch up her face at that, and in retrospect, it might have been better left unsaid. "And, well . . . some people—and our families, and definitely some of my friends come to mind—refer to living together without being sealed as 'immoral living', or 'living in sin', or . . . just plain old 'wickedness'." Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. "And you—whether you abdicated or not—are still an Empyrean Princess, both by blood, and in the minds of most of your people, so they have certain expectations and standards that apply more to _you_ than to the average citizen." Lords, it had sounded so stiff and staid, he almost wanted to crawl under the nearest rock while he waited for her to shoot him dead.

It took her about ten microns to recover. "And do you think it's wicked?" she purred, stepping towards him and sliding her arms around him, pressing her body against his.

"Lords, Lu . . ." Strangely it didn't hurt at all when her hand pressed lightly against his burn. "Wicked I can handle. In fact, I may have perfected it." But several faces still glared at him from his mind's eye: Adama, Ama, Apollo, Lia, Chameleon, even Dayton. Each and every one of them would let him know exactly what they thought of him using this innocent young woman, and not having sufficient respect or honour to marry her. And, if children _did_ happen, precautions or not, then he'd sure as Hades want them to never doubt that he was their father. "People are gonna talk, Lu. Like it or not, they will. It isn't going to be pleasant." Especially for you, Bucko.

"I don't care, Starbuck," Luana insisted. "Unless you're telling me that there's something deep inside of you that really has you convinced that we need to go through all this felgercarb, then I think we should ditch the whole thing."

"But the whole Fleet is expecting us to . . ." He paused as he recognized that stubborn tilt to her chin. "You don't care."

"I think you're getting it," she grinned. "I'm sure the _IFB_can scrape up something to fill that reserved timeslot. Maybe they could reconsider Mark Dayton and the Ristretto Kid." She quirked an eyebrow. "So. . . what about you? Is it important to you? Not what other people think of you, but to you personally?"

"I . . ." He shrugged, feeling off balance. There was a definite part of him that was disappointed that she was backing out of sealing with him, in favour of just living together. He'd never considered himself old-fashioned before, but then again, he'd never really met a woman that he wanted to marry before either. Or at least one he'd actually got around to _asking_. He chewed his lip as their discussion ran through his mind, feeling as though he'd missed something, or that she'd sidetracked him somehow. Maybe by pressing herself up against him. That usually did it. Those luscious curves pressing against him always had a certain effect that . . . Oh, right! "I . . . well . . ."

"You smooth talker, you," she teased him.

Then it hit him. "Lu, earlier you said that it wasn't actually getting sealed that bothered you, it was the build up. Now . . . you don't even want to get sealed." He kept his features carefully composed as he waited for her to comment.

"I guess just being able to finally talk about it with you made me realize that it isn't at all important to me." She traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger. "It's our commitment to each other that matters, Starbuck. Not some ceremony that society has imposed upon us, deeming us moral or immoral by whether we conform to their standards, or not."

"Wait a centon, how did this turn into a discussion on cultural expectations? We were talking about us." He asked, feeling as though she was spinning him round and round each time she changed tack in the conversation. Actually, the more he thought about it, she was sounding a bit like he used to. His internal klaxon began as a quiet whine that grew in intensity as he recalled how many relationships and long term commitments he had talked himself out of in his lifetime. "Are you sure this isn't just you having second thoughts about us?"

"Why do you keep coming back to that?" Luana challenged him.

"Because you're all of twenty yahrens old, and this is the very first intimate relationship that you've been in." He replied point-blank. "Hades, Lu, I wasn't ready for 'forever' when I was twenty. Are you sure that you are? Is that what this is really all about?"

She pulled away from him angrily, turning her back as she took a deep breath. Luana was taking an inordinately long time to answer him, he realized. He sighed as he looked out across the field, listening to the sound of an avian calling in the distance. He turned and caught sight of it, watching its graceful flight as it soared low over the grasslands. Then the gentle touch of Luana's hand on his shoulder had him turning slowly back around to face her.

"I love you, Starbuck. That much I'm sure of. But as to the rest . . . I just don't know." She sniffed, her lips quivering ever so slightly. Smudge marks on both cheeks betrayed a recent trace of tears that she had wiped away before turning to answer him. "I haven't done this before, you know."

He sniffed humourlessly, pulling her against him, unable to look into her glimmering brown eyes any longer. What was it about this woman that could dispel his anger and uncertainty so quickly with the shedding of a couple tears? "We'll figure it out, Sweetheart," he replied, then stroked her hair lovingly, pressing her face to his chest and finally whispering, "I . . . I love you too."

xxxxxxxxxx

A warmth. A light. A feeling of security, of peace. Drawing him closer. Coaxing him to rise. He took a deep breath, drawing it in as if he could inhale the comforting presence, taking it into his body and letting it infuse him with life. As if it could become a very part of his innermost being.

"Dick?"

Familiar voices echoed through his brain, reminding him he was loved and needed. That he was valuable. Important. A touch on his hand, a whisper at his ear, both trying to get him to rise. To lift himself up beyond the fog that kept him comfortably blanketed in oblivion. It was a nice place to be.

A medley of indistinct thoughts, memories, and sensations all seemed to flow through him and around him, creating a symphony of colour, grace and beauty. For a moment, it seemed as if every lovely, pure, creative thought and impulse that had ever been, suffused him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he reached out his hand, wanting to touch it, embrace it, ready to return . . .

Then a cold, claw-like grip grasped him, pulling him downward through the fog, away from the light. An icy coldness, like the bitter hands of Death, enveloped him, paralysing his body and mind as two orbs peered at him from within. Orbs that seemed to overflow with malice and hatred, and to rip right through him.

Wither and die, I command thee!

Brittle and frail, poised to break into a million pieces and scatter to the furthest ends of the universe until he was no more . . .

He is not yours to command!

Insolence!

Truth!

He was alone and adrift, as flashes of light arced through the realm. Two powerful forces danced around him, doing battle as they had for all of eternity.

A warmth. A light.

xxxxxxxxxx

The landram's engine seemed to cough, sputter and then finally die, making Dayton think about more than one car that he owned between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five, that he'd spent under five hundred bucks on. He'd be surprised if they could get _this_ thing going, even with Boomer and Baker hanging out of the access panels, and Apollo shouting out suggestions from within the hull which Tone was helpfully relaying.

The turret and the gun-mounting were completely destroyed, and the gun itself, the barrel split like a stick, was mangled beyond recognition. Of course, if they came across _another _one of these babies, they'd be SOL. . . and that didn't stand for _Ship Of Lights_ where he'd come from.

He could see Starbuck and Luana heading their way, Starbuck's arm lightly draped around her shoulders and his head intimately ducked towards hers. Her arm was around his waist, and she was nodding at something he was saying. Whatever the problem was, they had seemed to have worked it out. They were both nice kids, and deserved some happiness. And since they'd possibly never get the three bedroom bungalow with the two car garage and white picket fence, he wished them all the best.

"All right, give it another try!" Boomer shouted, and the directive was immediately echoed through the hatch to Apollo.

Dayton held his breath, involuntarily bearing down on his stomach muscles as the engine started to turn over again. It sounded like a flock of penguins in heat, and he thought for sure it was going to crap out. C'mon, Baby! Then, much to his surprise, a cloud of exhaust spewed from what seemed like the entire underbelly, and the whole machine shook like a bowl of jelly before the engine began rumbling to life.

"Yes!" Baker pumped a fist in the air and jumped down. He shouted at his friend, "Hey, buddy! Want a ride?"

"Good job!" Dayton congratulated them, taking one more look around as he kept his eyes peeled for Cylons from his vantage point, portable scanner in hand. "Let's go!" he hollered to Starbuck and Luana who let go of one another long enough to jog towards him. Starbuck's ankle seemed to be fine, his limp barely perceptible, which still amazed him. To think that an injury that could have made him a definite liability could be healed so quickly and efficiently.

"Are we all going to fit in there?" Luana asked as Dayton jumped down to join them. "It looks smaller than a Colonial landram."

"Not a chance. Apollo suggested that two of us ride on top." Dayton replied.

"Is he one of them?" Starbuck asked, a knowing smile on his face.

"I believe he made mention of both you and Boomer," Dayton grinned.

"Figures," Starbuck replied with a shrug. "He has a small problem with me driving when I've recently been in a drug induced stupor."

"Which happens often enough." Luana teased him. "Besides, I'm scheduled for another medical treatment, and Apollo wouldn't put civilians on top. They're too vulnerable up there, especially with the laser cannon blown to Hades Hole."

Starbuck nodded. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Well, we're going to try and find that Cylon base." Dayton explained. "Do a little recon for the Fleet and try to find a comm suite that we can contact the _Galactica_ with."

Starbuck nodded, looking back at the path that the landram had cut through the surrounding landscape. "Looks like we could follow the trail of devastation back there. Did the _Galactica_ pick up any telemetry on it?"

"Not on the Cylon base per se, but on emitting radion wavelons coming not far from your ships."

"That's why you were all so concerned about the radion poisoning?" Starbuck asked.

"Yeah." Dayton nodded soberly. "I thought you were toast, kid."

"Toast?" He shook his head, his brow furrowed.

"Burnt toast."

"So these emissions were coming from the Cylons?" Luana asked.

"We don't know. Either the Cylons, or whatever is controlling the Dynamos." Dayton replied. "I'm wondering if the _Galactica_'s scanners could be somehow misreading the emissions. After all, to get down here and not detect any fallout from the radion . . . Not that I'm complaining, you understand.."

"Hopefully we'll find out when we find the base." Starbuck mused.

"Are you up for it, French Press? That and clinging to the top of a lurching piece of Cylon junk?" Dayton asked, gripping the younger man's shoulder and bringing him to a stop.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really." Starbuck replied.

"If you're not up for it, tell Apollo." Dayton pushed.

"If I wasn't, I would." Starbuck retorted.

"Kid, you look like crap." Dayton began.

"Lords, Dayton, your paternal instincts are going supernova again." Starbuck shook his head at the commander. "I'm a warrior. And a damned good one. I know when I've reached my limit, and I'm far from it. Hey, I eat Cylon Base Ships for breakfast and asteroid pirate bases for lunch."

"Then I hope you Colonials have one hell of an Alka-Seltzer, kid," grinned the astronaut.

"Or a lot of mineral oil," added Baker with a chuckle as Starbuck gazed at them dubiously.

"All right." Dayton nodded, satisfied that Starbuck was either telling the truth, or was improving his poker face. He patted the young man on the back, winking at Luana who was looking at them tolerantly. "Let's go."

Once inside, both Earthmen found the interior of the Cylon machine both strange, and familiar. Baker, who had once driven an Abrams tank, could at once see the similarity, as well as the differences. To Dayton, it was a bit like sitting in a Humvee, or, he chuckled to himself, the _Chariot _from _Lost In Space. _The driver and co-driver sat forward, much as in the Colonial version, with what had been the gunner's seat behind them. With the gunner's rig partly removed, there was slightly more room, as well as an open top, but the whole thing still stunk of fried insulation and electronics.

"Can you figure the controls?" Baker asked Apollo, who slid into the driver's seat. In front of them, several of the instruments on the panel were dark.

"Of course," said the Strike Captain, gripping the steering yoke, and moving it as he glanced back to ensure all his passengers were seated, or at least holding on. "Starbuck and I actually flew a Raider once. If we can handle that, I think I can manage this." The landram lurched. . .

Backwards.

Into a boulder.

"_Hey!__"_shouted Starbuck from above, suddenly finding himself in Boomer's lap.

"Sorry!" called out Apollo with a wince.

With a shift of levers, he tried again, and they were off.

xxxxxxxxxx

That distinct antiseptic smell, the constant buzz of activity and alarms, and the pseudo-sterile environment, it seemed strange to Ryan that light years away from Earth, a hospital could still smell, sound and feel so distinctly like a hospital.

_I wonder if the food is as bad?_

"Ryan!" Porter hissed.

He looked up to see Porter studying Dickins intently. A slight flickering of eyelids, a twitch of his lip, then his nose . . . His fingers raised slowly to rub his face where a bruise darkened his cheek bone.

"Dick?" Ryan whispered hopefully, glancing up at a monitor that supposedly recorded brain wave activity, and was now assuming a pattern different from the ones he had been staring at over the last couple hours. He leaned closer, "Dick!"

Heavy eyelids slowly lifted, gazing blearily at the two faces staring down at him, trying to focus. Then Dickins blinked a couple times and looked around, turning his head slightly from side to side. He closed his eyes again, letting out an inhuman groan as his face twisted in blatant misery.

"Look at me!" Ryan hissed, grabbing his friend by the shoulders, sitting him up, and shaking him. "Look at me, goddammit!"

Dickins drew in a ragged breath as he opened his eyes once more. His gaze darted around the Life Station, taking in the hulking Security Officer guarding him from several feet away, before returning to his friend. "Can't be . . ." He closed his eyes tightly. "How the hell could I miss?"

"You didn't miss. Their weapons have a stun setting. Like a supercharged taser," Ryan explained quietly, as Dickins opened his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "You scrambled your senses, but that's about it." He hoped. "Assuming you actually had any in the first place."

"I can't go back there . . ." He glanced at the Black Shirt once again, gripping Ryan's shirt and wringing it in his hands. "I can't."

"You're not going back, Dick." Ryan vowed. "We're all in this together." He had spoken to the 'protector' that Chameleon had hired for both of them, wishing the man looked less like Ben Matlock because it was a little distracting. In any case, Pactus had stressed that Dickins had clearly been non compos mentis when he had attacked several strangers and had then turned a weapon on himself. All they needed was a physician's sworn statement to the same, and Dick would be cleared of all charges of assault due to his state of mind. Apparently, a psychiatric assessment would be in his near future now that he was awake.

"Wanna go home, Paddy." His hoarse voice broke like that of a small child's. "One way or the other . . ."

"Not that way."

"I don't care anymore."

"Then I'll care enough for both of us, at least for now." Ryan replied, refusing to drop the other's gaze. "And we'll get you home. I promise. We're already on the way!"

"Don't forget about me, guys," Porter interrupted, grabbing Dickins' arm. "I'm an equal partner. So are Dayton and Baker."

"Don't promise what you can't deliver," Dickins rasped, his eyes shining with clarity as he looked between them.

"Hey, we are going home." Porter leaned closer. "Remember what Dayton told you? That his angel friend told him that he's supposed to act as some kind of envoy with Earth when we arrive back home? And like I said, we're already on the way. We're light years closer then ever, now."

"Angel friend," Dickins sneered. "Where were the bloody angels for the last thirty years, Jimmy?"

"Playing ball in LA." Ryan returned.

Porter frowned at him.

Dickins cracked a smile, however slight.

"Never give up," Ryan reminded him. "Never say die. Never."

"Came pretty damn close, Paddy . . ." Dickins reminded him hoarsely, his eyes blank and unfocussed, and a tremor running through him.

Ryan grabbed him behind the neck, pulling him in tight. "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

A muffled snort was his response.

xxxxxxxxxx

As the sun rose higher in the sky, and the heat of the day seemed to peak, it had become clear from the grumbles within the Cylon landram that the occupants were cooking within the confines of the metal box. After all, Cylons had no need for re-circulating stale and hot air for the benefit of the crew. It seemed, however, that Starbuck and Boomer had celebrated their air-conditioned vista for all of a centar when the sun seemed to begin a downward plunge for the horizon as though it was part of an offensive strike mission. The temperature was also plunging accordingly.

"How are your optic sensors working?" Starbuck called back to Boomer as he gripped the edge of the turret and squinted ahead into the encroaching darkness with the pitiful glow of a handheld illuminator from a survival pack.

"What?" Boomer called back, then he grinned and shook his head. "Good point!" He called down the open gunner's hatch to Apollo, "We're rapidly losing visibility up here!"

"I lost it five minutes ago," Dayton murmured beside Apollo as he gazed through the port.

Apollo rubbed his eyes wearily, "Well, there aren't any external illuminators, or a functional scanner array for topographical analysis, and the thermal imager and navigational systems don't look like they've been in working order for yahrens . . ."

"Not to mention half of them are toast, anyway," said Dayton, looking at the panel. The explosion and fire in here had taken out a few things.

"Uhh. . .toast?" A vague recollection of it having a negative connotation;

"Burnt up. Ruined. From taking out the gun."

"Ah. Understood," replied the Strike Captain.

"We're hooped. Let's call it a day before we accidentally run off a cliff." Baker concluded.

"Sounds good," Luana agreed, stretching as the landram powered down.

"We'll secure a perimeter and try out Wilker's new toy," Apollo called out as they unloaded from the cramped space. "We don't know the extent of the Cylon forces, so keep your eyes peeled." He exchanged looks with Dayton, and the Earthman grinned. Yeah, the Earth lingo was catching on. "You can bet that their optic sensors work better than ours."

"Can we risk a fire, Apollo?" Luana asked, checking her scanner. She swatted at her cheek as something brushed it. "I admit that I'm not sure that these Cylons could detect the heat or light from our fire, any easier than they could pick up an energy reading on their own landram."

"Gonna be a cold night, by the feel of it." Dayton added, accepting a nutrient bar from Tone as he handed them out. "Dinner. Yum," he said unenthusiastically.

"We haven't seen a Cylon in centars," Starbuck mentioned, grinning as Boomer surprisingly handed him a fistful of Empyrean fumarellos from a survival pack. "Hey, thanks! Have I mentioned my undying respect and affection for you, buddy?"

"Not nearly often enough," Boomer grinned, as he tossed Starbuck his trademark ignitor and watched his friend attend to the fumarello with consideration and attention more befitting a lover than a noxious plant. He rubbed his neck as something buzzed by his ear. "But hey, whose keeping score? Compliments of your God-mother-out-law." Truthfully, he had almost left them back on board the _Galactica_, but somehow he just knew that Ama would find out . . . probably before he left. He certainly didn't want to get on the Necromancer's bad side.

Starbuck nodded shortly, his smile slipping as he glanced at Luana. "What about that fire, Apollo?" He drew deeply on his fumarello, exhaling through his nose. "Seems like a good idea to me."

Apollo felt a slight tingling on his hand, and brushed it against his pants. He watched Baker and Dayton swatting at their hairlines. "I have a feeling we're going to be eaten alive if we don't build a fire. Better keep it small though."

"I'm on it." Luana spoke up. "Dayton. Baker. Why don't you help me find some fuel? Boomer and Starbuck can establish our perimeter, and Apollo and Tone can start making camp."

"Yes, maam," Dayton agreed with a smile at the Colonial captain.

"Luana, are you sure . . ." Apollo touched her arm lightly, looking enquiringly at Tone.

"Captain!" Luana turned on him, startling him with the suddenness of her movement. "I'm fine and cleared for duty, just ask Tone." The med tech nodded briskly, not daring to say otherwise in light of the young woman's vehemence.

"Actually, Ensign . . ." Apollo began.

"Captain Apollo, before you suggest that I make camp and hand out nutrient bars, I want to remind you that I've spent most of my life hunting and gathering for survival in an environment much like this one. I've already seen many plants and wildlife that are similar, and in some cases identical, to what I'm familiar with on Empyrean. Now, you guys might like these nutrient bars, and if you're starving to death and have no other choice then they're an acceptable alternative to _real_ food, but frankly I'm thinking that what we really deserve after a day of both fleeing and fighting Cylons, is some roasted wild meat and freshly picked greens seasoned with fresh oreganus." She kept her tone respectful, simply trying to overcome his protective male instincts that were so typical of Colonial men.

Apollo swallowed the considerable amount of saliva that had pooled in his mouth as she described their evening meal. "As I was saying, perhaps you could use some of your skills to catch some game . . ." He chuckled at her answering smile. "I'll just set up camp."

"Yes, sir."

xxxxxxxxxx

"It's a small matter, really," Uri said with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile as he sat across from the other man. Dark wooden furniture, shelves full of reference material, walls decorated with certificates of merit, as well as contemporary art, it all contributed to the façade of respectability and prestige and could be destroyed so easily.

"I . . . I can't," he replied, blinking furiously as he pushed his chair back from his desk, and began pacing the room. He pulled a handkerchief from within his immaculate white robes, folding it meticulously into quarters and glancing at the embossed golden 'C' on the corner, before dabbing gingerly at his sweaty brow.

"You can and you _will_." The former bureautician linked his fingers and rested his hands on his chest as he followed the other's path, back and forth, like a caged animal. He smiled.

"This is a man's life."

"But not one of _our_ men."

"That has nothing to do with it, and you know it!"

"Do I?" smiled Uri.

"You don't . . ." the other tried to say.

"I have three separate statements, whereby you've been accused of sexually assaulting three very attractive female clients while they were under the influence of hypno-therapy." Uri reminded him. "Really, Cordis. Such behaviour!" Uri smiled again. The smile of the predator.

He dropped his handkerchief, his hands shaking as he bent over to retrieve it. "It's a lie! I would never do that! It's immoral and disgusting! Besides, I'm a happily married man, for Sagan's sake. I have a family, Sire Uri!"

"I imagine they wouldn't be pleased to hear these accusations, Cordis." Uri frowned. "Especially with your wife being so . . . public with her support of women's issues." He stopped, chuckling softly at the irony. "It will be a blow to her charitable society when her husband is revealed as one of the monsters that she is trying to defend Colonial women against."

"But I'm innocent of those charges!" He gripped the handkerchief tightly, shaking his head in denial. "I swear! Please, believe me!"

Uri smiled pleasantly, reaching forward and picking up the holoptic on the desk An attractive, middle-aged woman and three teenagers—two boys and a girl—smiled at him beatifically. He looked back and forth between the image and the man. "I do believe you, Cordis. I really do. The real shame of it, of course, is that others _won't_. Then the damage will be done. Public humiliation. Professional ruin. I'd be surprised if you retained your family, never mind your practice, after all was said and done."

"But if I do this thing you ask . . ."

"Then these accusations will never see the light of day, my dear Cordis. I give you my word." Uri offered the holoptic to the other as he climbed to his feet.

"And how. . .how can I trust you?" the other asked, almost a whimper.

"You have no choice," replied Uri indifferently. "It is either one way. . ." he smiled again, gesturing at the depositions, "or the other."

"I need time . . . to think . . ." Cordis whispered, as he stared at the trusting and loving faces of his family. Lords, one of the so-called 'victims' was his daughter's age! How could anyone possibly even think. . .

"Take all the time you need, Doctor." Uri replied as he walked to the door, then he turned and added, "As long as you've decided by the time Captain Dickins is ready for his psychiatric evaluation."

xxxxxxxxxx

"She's going to try _something,_" Baker whispered, looking around surreptitiously as he piled another piece of dried wood on Dayton's stack, while swatting at a blood sucking insect. "I just know it."

"Would you stop it." Dayton muttered, grunting under the weight of the wood. "She's just a wisp of a girl. What could she do?"

"Well, she's the one carrying the crossbow, first off," Baker pointed out. Neither of them had heard of a crossbow being an integral part of a military survival kit, but apparently since the Empyreans had joined the Fleet, the kits had been augmented substantially. As Boomer had said, the days were gone where Colonial Warriors were expected to crash land and survive with just a laser and good looks. "And she definitely owes us, Mark. And I get the feeling she's not the forgetting sort." He laughed a bit. "I'll bet she'd fit right in, back in the States." He switched to a very bad mobster accent. "Cause, like ya know, revenge is a dish that is best served cold. Right?"

Oh, Dayton had been thinking about that too. Ever since he had given Baker the order to coldcock Luana and carry her into the forest when they had first encountered the Cylon landram, he had known that anyone under the influence of Ama would be plotting some kind of revenge. No doubt that was why she had suggested the two Earthmen join her to gather fuel, while she set some snares and tracked some small game. _Either that, or just get the two old fossils out of the way doing something suitably primitive, while they set up their advanced scanner doohicky thingy._

"Just keep alert and stop dramatizing," Dayton finally replied as he adjusted his load. "You sound like my sister. . . Look, if she _was _plotting some diabolical revenge, I get the idea she's not the sort to be anything but direct."

"Yeah, otherwise, Starbuck wouldn't be able to keep up." Baker laughed.

Dayton laughed as well, pausing when he felt that familiar tingling at his ear. He did his best to rub it against his shoulder with difficulty, "Damn! What I wouldn't do for a can of Raid."

"Remind me, Mark. Am I watching for blood sucking insects, Cylons, or Luana?" Baker chuckled quietly. In the distance, they could hear the _twang_ of Luana's crossbow_._

"All three." Dayton replied with a grunt.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander, Battlestar _Pegasus_ approaching from the rear of the Fleet. Range. . .forty-four point eight. Shall I hail them, sir?" Omega looked back at Adama.

"No. We'll wait for Commander Cain to hail us again when he's ready to shuttle over. Lord knows what conditions they're working under." Adama replied.

"Uh . . . Commander," Tigh grimaced. "Do they have a shuttle with which to . . . shuttle over?"

For a moment the rueful look on his Executive Officer's face almost made him burst out laughing at the black humour of the situation. Apparently, they had both been at the helm for far too long this duty shift. "I'm afraid . . . I don't know, Tigh."

"Commander, we've reached another snag with the Programmable Mobile Units and the Dynamos." Rigel reported reluctantly.

Adama sighed, "Yes?"

"Well, sir, Dr. Wilker managed to increase their range—doubled it, in fact—however, since doing so the Dynamos have shifted position . . ."

"Thereby making the updated range, once again, inadequate," Tigh supplied in frustration.

"Yes, sir."

"It's almost as if those blasted things know what we're thinking and planning, Commander."

"Given all the unknowns about their origin and technology, that doesn't surprise me." Adama turned to regard the fidgety Empyrean. "Yes, Ensign?"

Ensign Lia jumped to her feet. "Sir, I'd like to volunteer to take some of the newly modified PMU's out on a shuttle, and at their new maximum established range, release them and guide them to the Dynamos." She shuffled from foot to foot, and chewed on her lip nervously as she waited for his response. There really didn't seem to be any other viable alternative. "I know there's _some_ risk involved, sir, but we need to know if we can get past that network, if indeed it's still operating as a defensive system, and get down to the surface to retrieve our people. Including my sister, Commander."

"I haven't forgotten, Ensign." Adama nodded. "Tigh?"

Tigh shook his head. "We have to find out the extent of the Cylon threat, Adama. Ama _did_ announce through the IFB that there's a Cylon presence down there, and we're going to look like complete fools if we can't deliver any further data on that several centars of supposed reconnaissance later. In fact, I'm expecting someone from the Council to barge in here and demand answers any centon."

"Vipers." Adama amended, nodding. "Two Vipers. They can react quicker to any potential attack of the Dynamos. Tigh, have . . ." he looked over at the current flight roster, "Lieutenant Jolly report to Alpha Bay."

"Yes, sir." Tigh replied, glancing in Lia's direction. She'd been pacing the Bridge like a caged leon since the rescue mission had launched.

"Ensign Lia," Adama added with a slight smile. "You'd better hurry if you're going to join him."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, Commander!" She raced off the Bridge.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Ready?" Boomer spoke into his communicator.

"Ready." Starbuck replied, activating the controller as he took another drag on his fumarello. He glanced down, nodding in satisfaction as he was able to bring up a graphic display of their perimeter, complete with topographical details. He switched screens, checking each of the eight receiving stations, getting not only an analytical readout, but a computer generated scan of the area. "How sensitive is this thing?" he asked, certain that Boomer would be more aware of the limitations of Wilker's latest invention.

"As sensitive as we want it to be." Boomer replied, heading cross country to rendezvous with his friend. "It can detect bugs or Base Ships."

"Anything in between?" Starbuck asked ruefully as he juggled communicator, controller and fumarello with ease.

"See that big knob in the centre of the unit?"

"You can see Dayton from your position?" Starbuck chuckled. "That's amazing." He reached for the rather conspicuous knob, turning it to the right and watching the correlating effect on the display. The refinement was impressive and a small alarm pierced the night air as what appeared to be a small mammal crossed through the connecting sensor beams. He swung the dial back to the left, and the alarm shut off in response.

"I got that," Boomer told him. "We'd better synchronize the settings before we completely confuse the computer."

"Well, I didn't make the briefing . . ." Starbuck pointed out, turning his head slightly as he heard Boomer drawing closer. He shone his illuminator in that direction, giving the lieutenant something to follow.

"Surprise, surprise." Boomer returned, raising his own light in greeting. "I see you. Okay, adjust sensitivity to 0.765. That should detect Cylons and predators, without picking up breakfast."

"0.765."

Starbuck waited for his friend to cross the ground between them. "Sure beats the old days at the Academy when you had to stay up half the night taking turns standing guard.."

Boomer smiled as he closed the distance between them. The new technology would be wonderful, if it worked. Of course, they both knew that Apollo would still insist on each of them patrolling the perimeter, to ensure that it was functioning adequately. "They were trying to build character."

"They were trying to mentally and physically exhaust us so their brain-washing would have a better chance at taking hold. Five kilometron runs, perpetual guard duty, snap inspections, parading in time around the square . . ." He shuddered, before taking another comforting puff of his fumarello. It was a fine blend of Empyrean tobaccos. "By the end of my first secton, I knew that the real enemy—the one I'd have to learn to overcome before I ever saw the inside of a fighter—was lint!" He reflexively brushed at some dirt on his tunic as a series of endless inspections came back to him. What's that on you tunic, Cadet Starbuck? Lint? Drop and give me twenty!

"Of course, one has to have some 'character' to build _upon_. . ." Boomer quipped, scratching vigorously at a bite beside his eye. His right eye was beginning to partially close in reaction to the swelling. "I remember that though. My squad used to get up thirty centons early every morning to go over each other's uniforms with a fine tooth comb. And Sergeant Monitus would still find lint." He chuckled, shaking his head at the utter absurdity of it all. Thankfully, he hadn't worried much about lint since surviving basic training, with the war going on and all. "So . . . how did you manage to overcome the evil lint?"

Starbuck grinned. "They issued us two uniforms and two sets of fatigues. One uniform I kept inspection ready; lint-free, pressed, folded and sealed in a plastic bag in the bottom of my kit. As soon as inspection was done, I put the other one back on or changed into my fatigues." He had been regaled as a hero when he came up with the solution, affording the squad an extra forty centons of sleep each morning. He chuckled in remembrance, pausing when he saw his friend's swollen face. "What the frack happened to you? Looks like you sparred a couple rounds with Ursus Major."

"I'm still standing." Boomer replied, noticing a distinct lack of corresponding bites on Starbuck. "They aren't biting you?"

"It always pays to be the least tasty human in the group, I always say." He grinned, glancing at his fumarello and holding it up for consideration. "Do you think . . .?"

"I'm willing to try anything." Boomer replied reaching for the smouldering weed.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Bring her around, Raetic. Let's show the Fleet our good side," Sheba commanded as they adjusted the _Pegasus'_ approach to the Fleet, deliberately concealing the worst of their extensive battle damage from the civilian populace. The small Bridge crew went about their duties with enthusiasm and efficacy, and a steady stream of other authorized personnel filtered in to get a look at what remained of the twelve colonies of man. This day had been a long time coming. Sheba glanced over to communications, from the navigation station she was manning, not quite prepared to contact the _Galactica_ just yet. There was still something which she needed to establish.

For a moment, she had an attack of conscience. No matter how she could reason her way around it, she was still attempting to mislead Commander Adama regarding Commander Cain's condition. Everyone on the _Pegasus_ Bridge had seen their earlier pantomime, when Cain had spoken to his former comrade, the topics carefully scripted and reviewed prior to 'show time'. They all knew that Adama wouldn't tolerate a man in charge of a battlestar who couldn't remember one moment to the next that his Alpha Bay had been destroyed. He couldn't, with so many lives depending on it. While Sheba couldn't fault the _Galactica_'s Commander for that, having interceded for that very reason, she also couldn't bear to see her father relieved of command and his beloved battlestar once again, especially when he was already dealing with his recently acquired physical disabilities. However, she justified the short term subterfuge by reasoning that Cain would make a full recovery once seen by Dr. Salik and his injuries treated with the finest advances in medicine that Colonial science had to offer. In the meantime, she was perfectly capable of assuming temporary command and getting the _Pegasus_ restored to her former glory. Or at the very least, battle ready. Granted, a few scars on the old warship only seemed appropriate, considering the fact that she had been blasting away at the Cylon Empire for centi-yahrens.

"I feel a bit nervous," Flight Officer Raetic, recently promoted—about eight centons previously—admitted. He flashed a tentative smile at his new CO, and ran a hand over closely cropped red hair. "The last time we met up with the Fleet, we barely had a chance to blink before we were back in the line of fire. I didn't even get an opportunity to see if anyone I knew survived the Destruction." All too serious blue eyes looked the Fleet over with a measure of curiosity and restrained hope.

Sheba nodded, noting that the freckles across his face, and his slender build, made him look so much younger than his actual yahrens. Possibly a reason Cain had failed to promote him. "A lot of us were able to contact old friends and family that we hadn't seen in yahrens, Raetic." She still remembered doing innumerable searches on the _Galactica_'s database, looking for people that could have survived. Her datapad held a list which she had constantly updated as names and faces came to her over the sectars after the _Pegasus_' disappearance. She had spent centars in front of a computer, though at times it had felt like yahrens, searching for people in her time off. It was a bittersweet period as the joy of discovery vied for dominance with the despair of loss. Her list at last dwindled down to a final name, one she had added as an afterthought.

Father.

A low whistle drew her attention, and Sheba glanced back to see Roz, Virtanen and Bojay entering the Bridge. Roz let out a deep breath, pulling her long, black hair back off her neck as she stared out the viewport. Bojay hovered just behind her, not letting her get far from reach.

"We're there," Roz nodded wistfully, a glimmer of a smile on her lips. "Finally. We made it."

"Hey, don't sound so surprised," Bojay ventured, cocking his head to the side and meeting her gaze as she turned to regard him solemnly.

"I guess you didn't notice, but I was out there pushing for the last parsec." Virtanen grinned, before he noticed that Bojay and Roz were in their own little world.

"There was a time, Bo . . ." Roz let her remark go unfinished as she glanced uncomfortably at Sheba and then back at Bojay. He nodded at her, taking her hand tentatively and interlocking his fingers with hers. She likewise took a step closer, and looked curiously up at him. Then she smiled, apparently liking what she saw.

For a moment, Sheba felt strangely jealous at that unspoken communication that seemed to pass between them. She shook off the irrational reaction, that Bojay was hers. After all, they had been strictly friends and wingmen since they had met. Romance had never even entered into the quotient. Roz and Bojay, however, had both done their fair share of flirting before they had been separated by fate and war. Cain, unlike Adama, was rigid with fraternization rules. Extremely so. Even a second glance could get a warrior, regardless of rank, condemned to a sectar-long assignment of permanent graveyard shifts . . . and cold turbo washes.

"It's okay, Roz. Don't feel you can't say it out loud." Sheba raised her voice slightly, so all could hear her—not just those straining their ears subtly in her direction. "I can't pretend that I know what it's been like for all of you since my father was injured, and so many of our crew were killed in battle. I wish I could have been here . . . but that's probably just my ego trying to convince me that I could have made some difference . . ." She smiled weakly, glancing at Bojay and seeing his answering nod. Yes, he wished he could have been here too. You could take the warrior off of the _Pegasus_, but you could never take the spirit of the _Pegasus_ out of her warriors. Or their allegiance to her Commander after all the brutal, hard-fought light-yahrens behind them . . .

"Well, speaking of Cain . . . you do come by that ego honestly enough, Captain." Roz quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"The point is, you can make that difference now, Sheba." Bojay nodded approvingly at the murmurs of agreement that affected the Bridge. There was no one more appropriate for command than the daughter of the Juggernaut, at least not in their eyes. Everyone on board knew that he was grooming her for eventual command anyway, though most never saw him ceding that role until he was stiff and cold . . . and even then grudgingly. "The _Pegasus_ is your ship now, at least until Commander Cain recovers. We have the utmost faith that you'll do her, and us, proud."

"Hear! Hear!" Roz echoed, leading them all in chorus of several more renditions before she leaned over to Bojay and asked, "So, are you coming home then?"

He smiled, "Would you like me to?"

"Thinking about it . . ." Roz replied evasively.

"Captain Sheba, pardon my bluntness, but . . ." Raetic glanced around the Bridge, letting the din die down, before continuing. "How much are you going to tell Commander Adama, ma'am? I mean, we all need to be in agreement on this, or at least coordinated with our stories." The flight officer frowned, as he took a deep breath. "If Adama knows just how bad Commander Cain truly is, he might assume command of the _Pegasus_ right out from under you. He'd probably put Colonel Tigh in command again." He frowned, his intense dislike of that scenario evident. "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing personal against Colonel Tigh, either as a man or as an officer, but . . .I guess I still have a bad taste in my mouth from the last time Commander Adama relieved your father of duty." He frowned even more. "You Viper pilots came awfully close to mutiny back then."

"Yes, we did," Sheba agreed, pushing herself out from behind her console. She had been livid when she had found out that Adama had dressed down Cain in front of a room of subordinate witnesses, and relieved him of command. After two yahrens of becoming a tight knit group of warriors, fervently faithful to their commanding officer, they had naturally stood their ground to support him during his humiliation. She glanced at Bojay, Roz and Virtanen. They moved instinctively to join her on the command level, letting her know they still would stand behind her, no matter the consequences.

"Is that what we're doing?" Raetic asked. "Are we purposely conspiring against Commander Adama in order to retain command of the _Pegasus_ in Commander Cain's name?"

Sure, it probably needed to be said, but somehow Sheba didn't expect the quiet, unassuming Raetic to say it quite so succinctly. Furtive glances flew around the Bridge as people either held gazes, or avoided them. The air seemed to spark with intensity, as honour, integrity and allegiance somehow mutated into conspiracy and mutiny.

Sheba walked forward, gripping the railing and looking out at her crew. From the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of a golden glint on the deck near the viewport. Behind her, she could feel the other pilots fan out in a semi-circle behind her. "I believe by now you've all heard of the Earthmen that we discovered four sectars ago, and their rescue, along with hard data on Earth, from a pirate base. Now. . ." She held herself ramrod straight. "While most of us on the _Pegasus_ were content to simply fight the good fight, taking as many Cylons out with us along the way as we possibly could, now we actually have a tangible goal worth fighting for. The survival of what remains of our people." She hesitated, letting them absorb her words. "The Thirteenth Tribe is real, Earth is real! Every man, woman and child in the Fleet believes this."

Sheba was well aware that stories of Celestial Beings giving them a course to Earth were difficult for the average Colonial to believe. Hades, there were times when she had convinced herself that she had dreamed that entire sequence of events with Count Iblis and the Ship of Lights. While the 'evidence' conveniently supported Adama's quest of faith, the actual discovery of living, breathing Earthmen had gone a long way towards convincing the average citizen that they weren't being lead down a fabricated flight path which justified their seemingly never-ending journey.

Commander Dayton's words on more than one night in the Officer's Club came to her now. "If we're ever going to reach Earth, we must ensure that the Cylons are either destroyed, or we've lost them for good. We cannot lead our ancient enemies to Earth, allowing them to wipe out our last colony, our future, and the home of the Thirteenth Tribe." Sheba continued, walking down the steps, and towards the viewport where she considered the stars for a moment, before she turned to face her crew once more. "So what we're actually doing, Raetic," she raised her voice a little more, making eye contact and holding it momentarily with each crew member as she spoke, "is we're rebuilding our ship and giving our Commander time to rehabilitate, so we can once and for all, make sure that the Cylon threat is eradicated. That will be our trust. For him. For the Fleet. For the glory of all who carry the blood of Kobol! We must, we _shall, _see to it that the Cylons are defeated. Annihilated for all time and wiped from the face of the universe!" That same golden glimmer caught her eye once again, and she bent down, reaching under a station, surprised when Cain's swagger stick almost magically appeared in her hand. The last time she had seen it, it had laid abandoned in his office. Her office. She stared at it a moment, feeling as though Cain was with her now, at least in spirit. The words abruptly came to her, a phrase that Cain had uttered time and time again over his career. She raised Cain's trademark stick high in the air, "Death to the Cylons!"

"DEATH TO THE CYLONS!!"

xxxxxxxxxx

"By-your-command."

Commander Malus turned around with something approaching excitement . . . or perhaps new power cells. "Speak, Centurion," he replied, sounding like an eager Human.

"The-second-landram-will-be-ready-by-midday-tomorrow. We-have-also-detected-a-canner in-use."

"A canner, Centurion?" A fluctuation of interest spiked in Malus' brain as he computed this unlikelihood and the possible ramifications as pertaining to this particular unit. He toned it down before he blew a circuit. "Do you possibly mean a scanner?"

"Yes-Commander."

Silence.

Malus waited. _More _silence. "Anything else, Centurion?" he asked, in exasperation, noting the large dent on its right side and the exposed wiring within..

"Yes-Commander. It-does-not-emanate-from-a-ship-or-ground-vehicle. It-appears-to-be-stationary."

"Well, why didn't you say so before?" snapped Malus.

"You-did-not-ask."

"I did not. . .Oh, Imperious Leader! What did I do to. . .?"

"I-have-no-data-on-any-interaction-with-Imperious-Leader. Such-communications-are-forbidden-unless . . ."

"Shut up!"

"I-do-no-compute-'shut-up'. I-am-only-programmed-to-'shut-down'."

"A salient point, Centurion. Anything else?" Malus decided to clarify before he was drawn into another round of stupidity. "About the scanner emissions, I mean, Centurion."

"It-is-originating-approximately-fourteen-point-zero-six-kilometrons-from-where-the- landram-last-reported-its-position."

"I see. Anything else?"

"Is-that-not-enough?"

Malus paused, wondering if he had imagined it. Then, if it was even possible for him to imagine it . . . "Anything else?"

"Not-at-this-time."

"Send out another foot patrol. Have them investigate, Centurion."

"By-your-command."

xxxxxxxxxx

Oh, Luana knew it was cruel and just a _little bit_ evil, but all the same, they really deserved it. A smile slowly spread across her face as slung her crossbow over her shoulder. She silently crept up behind the two Earthmen who had been talking quietly, while steadily heading back towards base with armloads of fuel for the fire. Occasionally, they looked over a shoulder and checked their immediate vicinity, but she could tell they hadn't spent much time in the wilderness—if their exuberant reaction to the insectons was any indication—though Dayton had long ago mentioned 'camping' with 'a cabin, a cooler and a two-four'. Of course, given how they'd spent the last thirty yahrens. . .

Now, the obvious choice would be a nice, throaty growl that denoted something big and vicious. A mountain leon, perhaps, or possibly a she-bruin who'd had a really bad day. But then something that Ryan had once said came to mind, so instead she leaned close to Dayton's ear before letting loose with a sharp, "Boo!"

Her instincts probably saved her from another blow to the face, when she agilely ducked out of the way of Dayton's swinging branch just after the rest of his firewood became airborne in all directions.

"_JESUS H. CHRIST ON A RAFT!__"_ he shouted_,_ the stick still shaking in his hand. "Dammit, Lu! You just about gave me a heart attack!" Dayton snapped, ducking as a piece of wood hit him in the head on the way back down. He dropped his 'weapon' and covered his head with both hands, wary of any other falling debris as Baker lay on the ground gawking at the Empyrean princess turned Colonial Warrior. Baker had flailed wildly, diving to the side when she had first startled them, and now his shoulders were beginning to shake with mirth as he righted himself on his knees. He was . . . laughing.

Luana grinned as Baker's silent jocularity turned into something approaching hysterics. More than anything else, it was Dayton's reaction that was funny, as he stared between Lu and Baker incredulously.

"Well, you got us, Luana," Baker wheezed, his face threatening to split wide open as he continued to laugh and then lapsed back into English. "She got us good, Mark. You should have seen your face, Dayton! A couple of old warhorses like us, and she makes us look like tenderfoots." He managed to compose his features for a brief moment, then shouted out, "BOO!" again. He collapsed back onto the ground, laughing anew as he held his middle.

"Is it _really_ that funny?" Luana asked Dayton, with a smile of bemusement as Baker's incoherent jabbers turned into peels of laughter .

"Well," he glanced at his friend, shaking his head at the complete lunatic and starting to retrieve the wood. "No. It's not that funny. But it is funny." He held up his forefinger and thumb, allowing a small space between them. "About that much." Then he smiled at the young woman, before arranging a more serious expression on his features and approaching the topic that had been hanging between them since earlier in the day. "I never did tell you that I'm sorry for getting Baker to hit you out there."

"I'd noticed that," she replied evenly, setting down the line of game she had caught. "Still waiting, actually."

"Lord, you're one tough nut," Dayton told her with a snort. "You see, the problem is that if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. I still would get you, Boomer, Tone and Baker to fall back."

Luana cocked her head, nodding slightly as she considered his words. "I'm not asking you to apologize for taking me out of the action, although how you did it might merit some consideration."

"Then what do you want me to apologize for?" he asked after a moment.

"Underestimating me."

"Underestimating?"

"Precisely so, yes."

"Go on."

"You have this irrational need to protect me, Dayton. Probably because I'm a woman." She took a step closer to him, pulling herself up on her tiptoes until she was looking in to his steely grey eyes. "But what you really don't understand is that I come from a planet where the male population all died off. I took care of myself and my people as a hunter, trapper, and trouble shooter for a lot of yahrens before the Colonials dropped in." She poked him in the chest. "I don't need or want to be taken care of."

"How does Starbuck feel about that?"

Luana smiled, shaking her head, and taking a step back. "You should have seen us together, Dayton. When the Cylons first surprised me and I escaped and went to ground . . . then Starbuck ran back to the Vipers like the demons from the lowest level of Hades hole were nipping at his astrum . . . Lords, it was beautiful!" She grinned, as she pictured it. "Covering each other, working as a team. What a rush!"

"You almost died, Luana." Dayton reminded her_. _Such youthful exuberance seldom survived war. He told her as much.

"If I have to go, then that's the way I want it to be," she averred, seeing his eyes widen in surprise. "Really. And Starbuck trying to carry me out of there with a broken ankle. . ." She shook her head. "The kind of courage and determination that took . . .I hope one day that I can say I have that kind of courage."

"Luana, Warrior Princess," he said monotone.

"Are you mocking me, Dayton?"

"Hardly. One of the bravest things I've ever seen was the way you struggled through all that rehab after being in a coma. Cassiopeia told me she's never seen such a determined patient before."

"Amen to that!" Baker echoed, moving off to collect his scattered wood.

"So?"

"So . . . maybe you're right. Maybe I . . . underestimated you." Dayton shrugged, then grimaced before adding, "And I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Commander," she replied bemusedly as her lips twitched in amusement. It was obvious it was taking a great deal of willpower for him to not to explain himself any further, or try to justify his point of view. She tapped her comm unit. "Now should I call Tone and get you something for your obvious pain?"

He shook his head ruefully. "Starbuck doesn't stand a chance. I should warn him to run for the hills while there's still time."

"Oh, there's plenty of time." She shrugged, seeing the warrior in question striding towards them with a fumarello firmly clamped between his teeth. Oddly enough, Boomer was also sampling some of Empyrean's finest.

"Well, speak of the Devil," muttered Dayton. "Eight sectars. Right?" he asked, swatting at another bug who was intent on removing the entire little finger on his right hand.

"Uh, no. We've changed our minds," Luana replied, reaching down to retrieve her line of avians and mammals.

"You've WHAT?" Dayton asked incredulously, immediately glaring in Starbuck's direction.

"What?" Starbuck asked, with a curious look at Lu. "What did I change my mind about?" Then a pained expression crossed his face, and he groaned feebly, "Lu . . ."

"What?" Boomer echoed, as he stared at the outraged Dayton.

"What?" Baker added, simply feeling left out.

"We've changed our minds." She nodded at Starbuck. "We're not getting sealed."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Apparently, Starbuck's utter dismay was on his face for all to see, as his fumarello almost dropped from where it dangled loosely between his lips. He'd had no clue whatsoever that Luana would choose this place, of all places, to decide to come out and tell their friends that she—correction, they—had changed their minds about getting sealed. Now, personally, he would have waited until they were safely back on the _Galactica_ . . . but then again, he was evidently more sensitive to the fact that they already had Cylons trying to hunt them down and kill them, so he really hadn't been prepared for any additional hostility to be directed his way.

Three sets of eyes, all turned on him, looking him over in varying degrees of hostility and scepticism—oh, the temptation was almost irresistible for Starbuck to throw his hands up in the air in surrender and just walk away without saying a word. Until he looked at Lu.

Luana, for whatever reason, simply didn't get that. She actually looked relieved. As if it was a huge weight that she needed to get off her chest. Damn the consequences, she would deal with them later.

But Baker, Boomer and Dayton weren't looking at her . . .

Baker, from behind his arm load of firewood, was regarding him with mild disdain. Well . . . to be fair, Starbuck didn't realize it was mild until he looked at Boomer. His good buddy was shaking his head not only in disapproval, but in disappointment, his jaw set. Yeah, it took all of a micron to absorb his silent recriminations before Starbuck had to drop his eyes, so he glanced over at Dayton.

Big mistake.

"What part of 'don't screw this up, Starbuck' didn't you understand?" The Commander drawled, his eyes narrowing.

"Hey!" Starbuck raised a hand defensively. "This really isn't anybody's business, but mine and Lu's."

Boomer threw up both hands, almost dropping the fumarello he held. "I didn't say a thing." His lips tightened and he did a one-eighty, heading for base.

"I just don't get you, Starbuck. I thought . . ." Baker shrugged, shook his head, and followed Boomer, swatting at another insect buzzing by his ear as he grumbled, "Just my luck, I finally get planetside, and it's worse than Florida for bleedin' mosquitoes."

"Try this." Boomer passed him the fumarello as they moved away. "Believe it or not, it works."

"Thanks."

"I think I can figure out the mosc-kito, but what's _Florida_?" His voice faded away.

"Dayton, back off." Luana turned on the Earthman as the others retreated. "This was my choice. I told Starbuck I wasn't ready to get sealed. He didn't suddenly decide to back out on me."

Dayton sniffed humourlessly. "I just have a hard time believing that, sweetheart. But it's admirable of you to try and defend him. Really."

"Well, it's true." She replied rapid fire as she glanced at her lover. "And frankly, I don't understand why you're taking it out on him."

"Maybe because of a certain reputation he has for lovin' and leavin' . . ." Dayton replied wryly, arms crossed, and scowling at Starbuck.

Starbuck blew out a breath of disbelief that after four sectars of getting to know the Earthman, that this particular topic had finally reared its ugly head on an isolated planet filled with Cylons. Oh, it had seemed too good to be true that Dayton could accept so graciously that his precious Cassiopeia had recently been in a very intense, serious relationship with Starbuck. "Did it ever occur to you if I hadn't, you wouldn't be with her now?"

"Don't be too sure about that, Whipless." Dayton blustered.

"Sagan sakes, it doesn't matter! What is it about you two? One centon you act like father and son, and the next, you're at each other's throats!" Luana intervened, glancing between the two men angrily. There was a volatility to Starbuck and Dayton's relationship that no one seemed to understand.

"Speaking of fathers, does Chameleon know about this? How about Adama? Or even Ama, for that matter?" Dayton inserted, an eyebrow raised at Starbuck as he studied him critically. "I can just imagine what they'll have to say. Not that anyone else's opinion evidently matters to you."

Starbuck met the angry grey eyes for a few microns, and the accusation in them bore into his soul. It took all the self-control he had to return the stare coolly and reply evenly, "Evidently not."

Then he grabbed Luana by the hand, and headed back to base without a backward glance.

xxxxxxxxxx

"More news." Porter nudged Ryan, shaking him gently to rouse him from his vigil over his friend. He glanced at the sleeping Dickins, and then inclined his head towards the door to the cubicle.

"Huh? Oh, I was just . . ."

"Standing, or rather slouching, on guard for thee. Yeah, I know. I've got some news, Paddy." He whispered. "Bad."

Ryan nodded, wiping tired eyes and rising slowly to follow. He stood aside as Porter gently started closing the door to the isolation cubicle, getting a glower from the Security Officer for his efforts.

"I'm pretty sure he won't make a break for it through the viewport." Ryan said pointedly. The Black Shirt glowered, but said nothing in response. Ryan allowed Porter to pull him a few feet away for privacy before he turned towards his friend.

Porter's face was deadly serious. "Colonel Tigh just commed from the _Galactica_ to let us know that the _Endeavour_ went down."

Ryan didn't answer. He waited. There had to be more, otherwise Porter wouldn't be holding it together so well. Still, his chest hitched in anticipation. Finally, "How. . .how bad?"

"He wouldn't give me all the details, but did say that Baker radioed, or whatever they call it, to say they all made it down in one piece." He squeezed Ryan's shoulder. "They ran into Cylons down there, but the details are spotty. Or at least they aren't sharing. You know that Ama was on the _IFB_ talking about Cylons being down there."

Ryan nodded again.

"What do you make of it all?" Porter asked.

"Are they sending a rescue team?" Ryan returned. "The Commander's son is part of that team. That has to count for something." Blood is thicker than water. History is thicker still.

"Apollo's team was the rescue team." Porter pointed out. "Tigh said they're still waiting for more intelligence before they can send another task force down there."

"Then they are planning to send a task force?" Ryan asked.

Porter shrugged. "He couldn't tell me for sure. Said he'd keep us posted."

"Ah. And we all know what _that _means, don't we?"

"Yeah. Anywhere you go in the galaxy, it seems some things never change. So, what do you think we should. . .?" He let the sentence hang.

Ryan nodded, looking back at the cubicle door. "If we have to . . ."

Porter nodded, and shook his head. "Only if we have to, Paddy. Better start thinking about how we'd do that."

"I already am."

xxxxxxxxxx

Lia slowed her step as she approached her Viper. Jolly was already waiting for her, leaning against his bird and thoughtfully stroking his moustache as he watched the hangar crew trying to secure Wilker's Portable Mobility Unit.. He pushed off his fighter with a sigh, and walked towards her, a frown on his lips.

"Let's talk," he said.

Lia paused, looking at the stocky warrior curiously as he came to a stop before her. He planted his feet, like a man with a mission, then crossed his arms over his chest before expelling a deep breath.

"What do you mean, Jolly?"

"How are you holding up, Lia?"

"Fine," she reassured him, just glad to be finally doing something. Standing by uselessly on the Bridge had been informative, but frustrating. She just wasn't built to sit idly by and watch, especially after almost twenty yahrens of being an Empyrean Princess in training for her role as

Emperor. After a deca-yahren of being first in line to deal with the responsibilities or problems concerning her people, albeit often with the guidance of her parents or Ama, it was quite the comeuppance to be downgraded to a lowly ensign in the Colonial Service.

"Fine?"

She nodded. "Yes. Just fine. Are we almost ready to launch?"

Jolly put a hand on both of her slender shoulders. "Lia, how could you _possibly_ be doing fine?" His words were soft, as he studied her features searchingly. There was no doubt that he was worried about her. It was so typical of the affable man. He had a habit of treating the younger warriors with exaggerated care. She'd even caught him acting that way with Starbuck when he'd been released from Life Station after Sire Dracus had tried to skewer him. Then again, both Starbuck and Jolly were orphans, so there seemed to be an unspoken bond of kinship—through mutual histories and understanding—between the two.

This was probably as close as she had ever stood to Jolly. There was something so protective and compassionate about him as he stood over, his kind, gentle eyes staring into hers. Almost like an older brother, or an uncle. Irrationally, it made her eyes well up with tears and she blinked them back, determined she wouldn't show him any weakness. Not before a mission.

She cleared her throat, "Jolly, we know that the Earth shuttle picked up Lu and Starbuck, and that they were stable. When it crashed, everyone made it out alive. That's good enough for me. They're alive," she replied soberly.

"Look, Lia. You're a good pilot. Hades, you've even out-flown me a time or two! But these Dynamos . . ."

"Jolly . . ." Her voice broke and his mouth opened slightly, the way it usually did when something surprised him. He frowned and shook his head as she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "You know you're making it worse."

"Maybe I am, but I want to know that you're really up for this." He lowered his head, if anything pulling her closer, ensuring they had complete privacy and that he had her undivided attention.

"I'm trained for this, Jolly. Just like the rest of you. Fly my Viper, blast the bad guys, save Humanity. Starbuck trained me, for Triquetra's sake," Lia returned, sparing a look past him at the hangar crew.

"Which is exactly why we're _having_ this conversation." Jolly's lips quirked. "Now you know I love him like a kinsman, but he tends to leave an imprint on his cadets. He says one thing, but almost always does another. Usually, the exact opposite. Eventually, people notice."

"Jolly, I swear, I'll listen to every word you say. C'mon, I think I've established a reputation for following orders," she replied . . . then she thought about how she had once manipulated Apollo into letting her—a relative greenhorn—join the rescue mission to Alrin. Then again this very day, she had accosted the Strike Captain in the corridor outside Adama's office, trying to do the same, but this time without success. However, she wasn't sure she could blame _that_ on Starbuck.

"I'm not talking about your record. That speaks for itself. I'm talking about your inclinations." Jolly replied. "I've seen it with Luana as well, Lia. Now granted, you two are subjected to a higher concentration of Starbuck than the average impressionable ensign. However, I need to know that you will not hesitate to follow orders out there. These Dynamos wield so much energy—energies we don't really understand—they have the ability to destroy the Fleet. We have to approach them carefully."

"I know. I promise, I won't let you down. I don't fool around in a Viper, Jolly. You should know that by now. You've flown enough patrols with me to have figured that out." Jolly, Boomer, Apollo, Starbuck, Giles, Greenbean, Dietra, she'd flown countless patrols with all of Blue Squadron, logging her flight centars and honing her skills amongst some of the most respected pilots on the Battlestar. She's always been dedicated and responsible, but flying among the best would turn her into a better pilot than she could ever imagine. She knew she had a guardian angel taking care of her—it just never occurred to her that he would end up being embodied in a brash, fumarello-smoking, fun-loving Colonial Warrior that her people still believed was their saviour, as predicted by a long dead Prophet, the Great Kaula.

Jolly sighed again. "Yeah, I know. I'm just worried about you, Lia. You've been through an awful lot since you joined the Fleet. This Colonial Warrior stuff isn't exactly on the average Princess portfolio."

Lia groaned, looking to her ship where the hangar crew was finishing up securing her PMU, before looking back at Jolly. "Please tell me you don't actually think of me as a Princess." She grimaced and shook her head in disdain.

"Well, admittedly, I haven't known many princesses . . ." Jolly replied looking at her haltingly, then his face flushed and he let her go, taking a step back. He glanced back at her, and then at his chrono, followed by his boots. He brushed something off his pants, then rested his hand on his weapon, sighing and checking out his ship once again. ". . . I . . . uh . . ."

"Jolly?" Lia asked in confusion. One minute he's bawling her out about how Starbuck could be possibly influencing her, and the next he's . . . She wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.

"Well, I just think that . . ." He winced, running a hand over his jaw and stroking his moustache again, before turning back towards his ship. He slapped his thigh with his helmet. "Ah, Sagan . . . I'm no good at . . ."

"Jolly?" Lia asked. Abruptly, she realized that this man who had befriended her, treating her like a kid sister—or so she thought—was actually attracted to her. _ Jolly?_ And for the first time in her life—at least since admitting to herself that she had a small crush on Apollo some sectars back—she was more than slightly curious about how this might turn out.

"Never mind," he replied over his shoulder, heading for his ship. "Starbuck would kill me anyway."

She launched herself after him, grabbing his arm, and trying to stop him. "Kill you for what? What on Empyrean are you talking about?" she asked, looking up into a face that was now bright red with acute embarrassment.

"Just forget it, Lia." He shook his head, as though a shudder was passing through him, continuing to press on towards his fighter. "We have a mission. And Colonel Tigh will have my astrum for a footrest if we're late launching."

She managed to get in front of him, though how, she wasn't sure, as she speed-walked backwards, realizing they must look as though they were performing some strange dance or mating ritual. Lia planted both hands on his chest and pushed hard, determined to get him to talk to her. He'd either have to barrel her over, or stop.

He stopped.

"Tell me!" she pleaded with him, looking up into a face that was now bewildered. His mouth had once again dropped open, and his eyes were opened wide, as he studied her features. "Please, Jolly."

"Lia, I'm not good with words." He winced, his reluctance clear, then he again averted his gaze, his attention flickering haphazardly around the launch bay as though he could somehow escape this discussion.

"What words?" She smiled to soften her remark, then she reached up ever so gently stroking his cheek with her hand.

His blinked. Then he smiled at her hesitantly, almost shyly, encouraged by her touch. "I just thought that. . . well, if I ever met a princess . . ." He seemed to take a moment to think about his choice of words, ". . . that she'd look like you do." He held her eyes for a moment, then winced ever so slightly, as though he was unsatisfied with his attempt.

"How do you feel about her flying a Viper and carrying a laser?" She returned with a gentle smile.

"Oh, I don't mind _that_." He smiled again, this time easier. "So long as she doesn't shoot me with it." More Jolly.

"Glad to hear it, because I kind of traded in my tiara." She quipped, never having laid eyes on such riches in her life.

"But you're still a princess." He pointed out.

"And you're a prince of a guy, Jolly," Lia admitted shyly, before dropping his gaze and awkwardly looking back towards their ships. Suddenly, she felt as foolish as he obviously had the moment before. Granted, her experience with romance was limited to watching the IFB and inadvertently listening to the odd off-coloured tale of conquest amongst her squadron mates in the OC. Somehow she hadn't realized the early stages of romance could be so . . . painful. The Vipers looked loaded and ready, and Jenny was standing there with hands on her hips, staring intently in their direction, tapping her foot on the deck in time with her finger on her chrono.

"Lia . . ."

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"When we get them all back here. . . back home safely. Do you think you'd maybe like to . . . have a drink with me?" Then he chewed his lip thoughtfully before adding, "I mean, just with me."

"I'd like that very much, Jolly."

"So would I."

xxxxxxxxxx

"_Pegasus_ Shuttle requesting permission to land."

"Permission granted, _Pegasus_ Shuttle." It was Athena's voice, over her commline. "Proceed to landing bay Alpha."

"Acknowledged, Alpha Bay."

This was it. Sheba took a deep breath, glancing at Bojay beside her. Her mind was so full of incidental details that it felt as though it would explode. Excitement at reuniting two old friends and cohorts, vied with worry about her father's health—physical as well as mental—as she glanced back at Cain, noting he was still hovering behind them. Typically, he was watching their approach to the _Galactica_. "Father, you should sit down. We'll be on approach in a centon." Despite her tension, she kept her voice sounding light.

"I know that," he replied matter-of-factly, his features unreadable as he stood there. Then he turned, slowly taking a seat on the command dais behind them, where he could observe and give orders as needed. "Bojay, have the flight crew run a diagnostic on the reaction mass generator before we return to the _Pegasus_. I sensed some hesitation on takeoff."

Bojay raised his eyebrows, glancing at Sheba who nodded. "Yes, sir."

Within centons they were on board the _Galactica_ and taxiing to a berth. Cain remained seated, until the ship was through powering down. Through the ports, Sheba could see Adama crossing the landing bay to once again witness the miraculous return of a great military hero. No doubt an honour guard would be assembling outside the shuttle.

"Let's get this _daggit and equus show_ over with," Cain quipped, rising slowly, and, to Sheba's eye, somewhat painfully. She had to resist the impulse to reach out and take hold of his arm. He climbed to his feet, and made his way to the hatch. Leaning heavily on his cane, he paused for a moment before taking a deep breath, straightening his spine, and crossing the threshold.

Sheba was right on his heels and she swallowed a lump in her throat, as cheers and whistles at the first glance of Cain's familiar gold brocade flight jacket quickly subsided when the _Galactica_'s crew took their first good look at the Juggernaut. He paused on the platform, as though he was letting them get used to the idea, before he slowly moved forward a couple steps, pausing again at the edge. The usual drag of his right leg was less pronounced than usual, and she could tell from the look on his face that it was because he was concentrating all of his energies to appear more like his old self. She held her breath, not even sure he could manage the obstacle of a couple stairs. She was tempted again to rush to his side, and take his arm, but knew he wouldn't appreciate her stressing his physical limitations.

Adama took the steps quickly, preventing the need for Cain to descend them before an audience. Cain took a hesitant step back as Adama gripped his stiff right arm formally.

"You did it again, Cain. Thank the Lords of Kobol! Against all the odds, you did it again!" Adama smiled warmly, not releasing his grip on the other.

"Well, I have a reputation to uphold, Adama," Cain replied with a half-smile. "Something we're going to have to discuss further, my friend. Any word on your rescue party? Your son?"

"Nothing new," Adama replied, shaking his head slightly. "Two Vipers just launched. Dr. Wilker designed some portable mobilization units which we're going to use to probe the Dynamo network to see if it's still acting as a defence system now that they've stopped emitting any detectable wavelons."

"Good." Cain nodded approvingly. "I want to know where those gollmonging Cylons came from, what they're doing there, how long they've been there . . ." He looked out at the onlookers and rose his voice ever so slightly, "and what sound their base makes when we blow it to Hades Hole." Several nearby crewmembers laughed, and both Sheba and Bojay couldn't help but smile. _That_ sounded like her father!

"Let's not jump the gun, old friend," Adama smiled at the familiar Cain bravado. "I believe there is much to be learned on this planet, aside from why it's crawling with Cylons. May the Lords give us that chance. Come. Let's go back to the War Room and I'll brief you on everything that's happened. We have a lot of catching up to do."

"Alright, Adama. As long as there's a flagon of ambrosa to pass back and forth, I'm willing to cool my thrusters." He smiled tolerantly.

"You also have an appointment in the Life Station," Sheba pointed out.

"One thing at a time, Captain." Cain looked back at her in apparent amusement as he moved slowly down the stairs, leaning slightly on Adama. "We're not in battle yet."

Sheba frowned, and looked at Bojay. He shrugged, and fell in behind them.

"It almost feels like the last time we rendezvoused with the _Galactica_." he whispered to her.

"Yes." She nodded soberly. "But it's not."

xxxxxxxxxx

The fire was small but merry, and certainly enough to keep them warm, and to cook the game that Luana had caught. Apollo and Tone had emptied the survival packs, and quickly set up camp, while awaiting the others.

"Lords of Kobol, save me . . ." Apollo sputtered as he inhaled the noxious fumes of Boomer's fumarello, and passed it over to the med tech across the fire. He coughed a few times, before he noticed Boomer and Baker chuckling at him in amusement. And God knew they could _all _use some amusement about now, after the latest news of the disintegration of Starbuck's engagement. "You're sure this works?" he asked doubtfully.

"I haven't had another bite since Starbuck gave me a drag of his smoke," Boomer reassured him. "I don't know if it's the fumes, or some kind of chemical that very quickly ends up in the blood stream, but I swear our fumarello smoking friend doesn't have a single bite on him."

"I can vouch for that." Baker added, chuckling as he looked at the numerous white dots of ointment that covered Apollo and Tone's exposed pieces of tissue. He took another drag on his cheroot. "Man, give me the address and phone number of your tobacconist. Please!"

"They're Empyrean." Boomer told him.

"Ahh!" Baker savoured the smoke a moment. "What is . . ." He flicked a finger against his own face to indicate their war paint, "the goo?"

"_Goo_?" Tone asked, then grimaced as he puffed tentatively on the smoke. "Salve. It has anti-inflammatory and antiseptic properties, as well as a local anaesthetic."

"Gets rid of the itch," Apollo summarized seeing Baker's hesitant look. He was personally amazed at how well the other was doing with improving his grasp of Colonial Standard since he had joined the Fleet. Necessity was obviously a good motivator.

"Well, then, fist me the _goo_." Baker nodded, watching Tone tentatively put his lips on the fumarello again as he reached into his jacket and pulled out the salve.

"You have to suck on it to get it into your mouth, Tone. Not just lick the tip," Boomer groused, watching the other's sad attempt.

"Uhh. . .well, I never tried before. My parents didn't believe in smoking."

"Bummer," said Baker.

"Boomer." The lieutenant corrected him.

Tone tried yet again, mimicking Apollo's example and he coughed as the fumes went straight to his lungs. "These things are really bad for you, you know. They should be illegal, with all the medical conditions they cause or exacerbate."

"That's for damn sure," Boomer agreed wryly. "I can't help but wonder if somehow Ama knew we were going to be needing it. Now hand it over."

"I feel like a teenager, dangling out with my friends, smoking a little weed . . ." Baker smiled, watching Boomer take another drag and pass it to him.

"Weed?" Apollo asked.

"Uh . . . crock." They looked at him. "Uhh, nowhere mind. Just a phaser I went through a long time ago." Baker lowered his eyes, shifting from foot to foot as the others looked at him curiously.

"Phase." Boomer corrected him, wondering what a 'phaser' was, if anything. Sounded kind of dangerous.

Baker shifted his gaze, grinning abruptly and pointing, "Oh, look, here climaxes Starbuck and Luana."

"Dinner's here, boys!" Luana grinned at them, holding up the impressive line of small game she had caught.

"Great! I'm starving," Apollo smiled at her, and noticing her holding tightly to Starbuck's hand, which boded confusingly well if they had decided _not_ to get sealed. Only Starbuck. "I heard you did well."

"Three avians that look like our Speckled Grousson back home, and four mammals that remind me of a smaller species of our Black-Backed Bobaks." She elaborated on the various species as they came over to the fire. Luana slipped her hand free of Starbuck's and set down her catch. "Nice fire."

"Thanks." Baker said. "A small pine pitch will slave miracles."

"Uhh," groaned Boomer.

"How's the ankle, Starbuck?" Tone asked.

"Good as new."

"Bucko, where's your stash?" Boomer asked, holding up the fumarello.

A flicker of a smile crossed Starbuck's features when he saw them passing Boomer's smoke around. "What was that you said about 'sometimes a fumarello is just a fumarello'?" he asked Apollo.

"And sometimes it's great insecton repellent, apparently," Apollo chuckled, as Starbuck pulled his remaining stash from his pocket.

The lieutenant studied them regrettably for a moment, before handing them around. He hesitated and looked at Lu, "Do you want one?"

"Actually, the insectons haven't been bothering me. Guess it's my Empyrean Blood," she winked at him. "They're probably afraid of me."

"Yeah," said Starbuck. "They suck any of that royal blood, and they know Ama will be after them."

"With that cross bow, and your collection of dead varmints, I'd be afraid too." Tone quipped. "What did you do with Commander Dayton?"

"I believe he was collecting the firewood he . . . dropped," Luana replied, glancing at Baker for a moment. The other started chortling quietly to himself. "I'm going to need something to cook these with." She pulled her blade from her boot and kneeled down. Within a centon she was deftly skinning the mammals. "Anyone want to help?" She smiled up at them.

"I notice she's very adept with knives and other weapons," Baker mentioned aside to Starbuck. "Not exactly a Disney princess, huh?"

"A diz . . .?" Starbuck shrugged. "She's. . . very handy to have around," He replied, sighing as Baker looked at him questioningly. "I . . .uh . . . I'm gonna go do a quick check of the sensors. Just make sure everything's functioning properly." He walked away briskly.

Luana paused what she was doing looking wistfully after him.

"I think I'll go with him. It would be just his luck to fall through a sinkhole and land in the middle of that Cylon Base." Apollo spoke up as he watched his friend beat a hasty retreat.

"Well if he does, hopefully they design them the same way they do their Base Ships," chuckled Luana. "At least he'll know his way around."

"Yeah, he's the only warrior I know who has been aboard two Cylon Base Stars, and is still around to tell the tales." Apollo mused.

"So, you think it could be underground? That's why we didn't pick it up on our scanners?" Boomer asked.

"Possibly," Apollo nodded, pausing to grab a twig from the fire, and holding it to the end of his recently acquired 'insecton repellent'. He sucked on it as he'd seen Starbuck do at least a thousand times before, but it didn't seem to ignite. "Frack, what am I doing wrong?"

"You're supposed to use an ignitor, and rotate the fumarello as you puff on it . . . never mind. Here, take this one." Boomer handed him another. "And go."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Apollo caught up with Starbuck just short of the first sensor module. If it wasn't for the minute glow at the end of his fumarello, and the dappled moonlight shining down on him, he might have missed him entirely, his friend was standing so still. The captain paused for a moment from a distance, taking a deep breath and drawing in the fresh air, instead of the pungent pollutant he had been steadily puffing on, in an all out attempt to repel the attack of blood-sucking insectons. Admittedly, it _did_ seem to be working, certainly better than any repellent he'd ever used. He cocked his head to the side, watching Starbuck for a moment. Contrary to his claim, the lieutenant hadn't even _looke_d at Dr. Wilker's electronic perimeter guard, at least not that he was aware of. He simply stared across a dark field, where the wind gently blew tall grasses that they could hear better than see beneath a dull lunar glow. Apollo shifted a centon later, beginning to feel as though he was spying on the other, yet somehow reluctant to interrupt his solitude.

Instinctively, Starbuck pivoted, his weapon abruptly in his hand. "Who's there?"

The captain raised his illuminator, increasing its beam and shining it on himself. "Just me." He moved forward slowly as Starbuck lowered his laser, and re-holstered it. "I thought you might want some company."

Starbuck merely nodded, turning back towards whatever it was he was studying so intently, his gaze fanning the landscape lazily. Apollo stopped beside him, extinguishing his light, and he scanned the area for potential points of tactical weakness and strength for both them, and the enemy. For a moment he wondered if he would _ever_ be able to face nature so pristine, and not have to think about where the next Cylon was hiding. If he could ever just run carelessly through a field such as this one, holding his son's hand, or maybe Sheba's, and not have to think about survival, fate, the enemy, or where danger was most likely to be lurking. Finally, he simply took another breath of cool, crisp air, redolent with both familiar and unfamiliar scents. "What are you looking for?"

"Peace."

Well, he wasn't sure what he expected, but _that_ definitely wasn't it. "Did you find it?"

Starbuck sniffed humourlessly. "You know, I finally realized . . . I don't think I'd recognize it." His blue eyes looked up to the stars. He nodded slowly and the hint of a smile settled on his lips as he tilted his head back. For a long moment, they just looked at the vast, glowing splash of stars that arced like some impossible canopy across the sky. "I guess up there is the closest I've come, really. I wonder how close freedom is to peace?"

"You find freedom up there?"

It took him almost a full centon to respond as he appeared to consider it. "Yeah."

Apollo nodded slowly. "Me too."

There was something almost intoxicating about being in space. One man, alone in his ship, and in every other direction, every which way . . . infinity. Of coarse, just when you had fooled yourself into believing and enjoying _that_, then the static of your comm unit stirred you from your reverie as your wingman, and your computer, warned you of targets on the scanner array. All on their way to kill you.

"She doesn't want to get sealed." It was a whisper, barely audible above the wind through the grass, or the distant sound of a lazily burbling stream. "She just . . .doesn't want to get sealed."

Apollo nodded, watching Starbuck's eyes continue to rake the night sky. They looked unusually bright, until he blinked several times and let out a long, haggard breath. Then he closed his eyes tightly, his hands curled into fists.

"You do," Apollo stated softly.

Starbuck slowly nodded, turning his head the other way and casually rubbing his eyes before he answered. "Pretty frackin' funny, huh? Considering."

Apollo reached over and squeezed his shoulder. Never before had he seen such naked vulnerability displayed so openly from this man, other than when he had found out that Apollo was running a background check on Chameleon. Then his feelings had been masked by an uncharacteristic rage. "She just needs time."

Starbuck raked his fingers back through his hair. "Yeah. Time."

"What are you going to do?" Apollo asked, dropping his hand and waiting patiently for his friend to think about it.

"What can I do?" He shook his head faintly and shrugged. "Give her time, I guess."

"And in the meantime everybody in the Fleet is going to be giving you grief about this," Apollo mentioned, bemused by the irony, but impressed that Starbuck had finally grown up, or so it appeared.

"Believe me, some have already started," Starbuck shrugged again, then looked searchingly at his friend. "So. What do you think it would take to get us couple's quarters?"

Apollo groaned. "You know that Adama won't approve."

"Ah, c'mon. People lived together all over the Colonies without being sealed. It's not exactly a new idea."

"But _not_ in military funded quarters," Apollo frowned. "You know there's a code of ethics closely affiliated with the Regulation Manual . . . or maybe you missed that." Starbuck's lips narrowed at the words _ethics _and _regulations_. They had a nasty habit of getting in the way of a man's desires. "Lords, Starbuck, it was even worse when my father was sealed with my mother. He had to apply and wait for permission from the Service, and he had to have a certain amount of cubits in his personal account, not to mention his military pension account, just to prove he could take care of her financially."

"I know, I know . . . it's just so fracking _Kobollian_ . . ." Then he frowned almost apologetically. "I mean, dated."

"You mean _Kobollian_." Apollo nodded soberly. "And you're right. Actually, I knew of a few couples that shared private military quarters. . . they just didn't let the Service in on it." He leaned back against a tree, and crossed his arms.

Starbuck paused, considering Apollo's words carefully, "Is that a suggestion?"

"You have the seniority, Starbuck. And you're an officer. As long as Luana retains a bunk in the billet, _officially_, you're not living together."

Starbuck turned to look at the captain. "Thanks. I really wasn't expecting . . ." His words trailed off as he dropped his gaze, looking over at the sensor array instead.

"I know." Apollo shrugged. "Lately, I seem to spend more time coming across as your commanding officer than your friend." After all, between Chameleon, Ama, and Dayton, Starbuck had enough people ministering to his conscience. He didn't need one more. "I'm working on it. I'm working on a few things." Sheba immediately came to mind.

Starbuck smiled at him and nodded once. He'd evidently noticed.

"However, it could have something to do with the amount of times you've been in Life Station since we were in orbit over Empyrean, buddy." Apollo raised a hand, glancing at the fumarello in it. He took a puff, watching Starbuck's lips curl up at the image of the straight laced captain smoking. "I'm seriously considering Boomer's idea of wrapping you in bubble wrap and taking out insurance."

"Just a run of good luck," Starbuck grinned, taking a drag on his own smoke. "You know me."

"Good luck?" Apollo asked in disbelief.

"There are only two ways to get out of Life Station, buddy." He pointed out logically. "And I'm still standing."

Apollo smiled. A decidedly Starbuckian point of view, but valid nonetheless. "Point conceded," he shrugged. He pointed to the scanner. "Did you ever . . .?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Starbuck shrugged. "I just needed to get away for a few centons."

"Fair enough." He pushed himself away from the tree. "C'mon, while we're out here, we'll patrol the perimeter. You know, actual warrior work. Maybe by the time we get back to camp, dinner will be ready."

"Black-Backed Bobak. I wonder what kind of nectar goes best with that?"

"We'll have to consult a Sommelier." Apollo returned with a laugh as he headed off.

"A what?" Starbuck chuckled, rotating his fumarello as he puffed on it. "So . . . what are the odds that we'll find one doing the perimeter check?"

"Well, if we can find Earthmen, and you're actually thinking about settling down and living with someone, then I truly believe that anything's possible." He ducked, as Starbuck directed a half-hearted swat in his direction.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Okay Lia, I'm picking up the Dynamos on my scanner," reported Jolly, studying his instruments. The flight into the system had been uneventful, the two of them following the _Endeavour'_s ion trail. Now, the planet was coming into visual range, and it was down to business. "Do you have them?"

"Aye, Jolly. I have them. Altitude and orbits read as unchanged since we launched." She couldn't help but look out through her canopy, still expecting to see the objects as they appeared on the scanner. "How are we going to do this? Release them both, or one at a time?"

"Dr. Wilker would have my hide if we lost both of his precious units for no good reason. One at a time, the second only if necessary, and I'm going first."

"Yes, sir," Lia replied, looking over at his fighter. Sure enough the PMU, mounted to one of the Viper's torpedo launchers and looking like a lump stuck to her nose, seemed to float off the ship, as the automated locking mechanisms were released.

"Engaging." The tiny thruster on the PMU flared to life, and the machine accelerated away from the now nearly-stationary Vipers. "On course. ETA with Dynamo orbit. . .nineteen centons, four microns. . .now."

Lia glanced at the unit that had been hastily rigged into her control panel, which was currently dark. She sighed, frustrated with being in a holding pattern again while the diminutive unit headed to its target of the migrating Dynamos.

"Patience, Lia." Jolly reminded her.

"Hmm," she replied, already feeling the itch of impatience taking hold. Sagan's socks, but she wanted results now. "Are we safe to scan the planet's atmosphere? I'm curious to see if the movement of the Dynamos has left any obvious openings that we could squeeze through."

"Better wait to see how they react to the probes," Jolly replied after a moment's consideration. "We don't want to inadvertently activate that defence system again, do we? Not without more data than we already have."

"Of course not," she muttered, checking her chrono and verifying it with her Viper's computer. "Eighteen centons, huh?"

"It'll depend on whether or not the Dynamos alter their velocity in reaction to the PMU's." Jolly replied. "Doctor Wilker was muttering something about these Dynamos seeming to react to everything we try, as though they have their own artificial intelligence systems."

Lia felt a shiver run down her spine. "That's sounds eerily like the Cylons."

"Well, they're still not convinced that these things are out to get us. I wish they'd been able to find out something more useful from the Dynamos we retrieved at the pirate asteroid."

"What did they find out?" Lia asked.

"Nothing. They couldn't figure out how to take it apart. And with the danger of that unknown internal energy source, Wilker didn't want to risk breaking it open. No sense blowing up the _Galactica_ and half the Fleet, and do the Cylons' job for them."

"Thank Triquetra that he realized that."

"Amen."

xxxxxxxxxx

Ryan paused at the entrance to the Empyrean Necromancer's quarters on the _Malocchio_ Freighter. He held his hand up over the entry chime, hesitating as he prepared himself for an encounter with a woman that challenged beliefs that were ingrained in him after a life time. There was something about this woman that he just couldn't figure out, and wasn't really sure that he wanted to when it came right down to it.

The hatch slid open, and he jumped back reflexively, unnerved as he looked for some security device that would have foretold his arrival . . . and didn't find it.

_With their tech, I might not have even seen it. That's it. Just technology._

"Come in, Paddy-Ryan." Ama's voice seemed to float out from the inner chamber much like light glittering on water, as though it was a life force all of its own.

He bit his lip and crossed the threshold, trying to remind himself that this woman, who, while _unusual _to say the least, had been nothing but kind and supportive to the Earthmen . . . in a weird hocus-pocus sort of way.

"Nice place." Ryan attempted, moving further into the candle lit chamber until he saw Ama sitting on a couch, patting the seat beside her. Succulent and tempting aromas wafted past him, and he saw that a table laden with delicacies awaiting him. He took his indicated place, glancing at the food and realizing it had been some time since he had eaten. His stomach growled loudly, as if in agreement.

"Thank you for coming, Paddy-Ryan." Ama smiled, leaning forward to pour him a tankard of dark brew. "How is Dick-Dickins doing?"

"Physically fine." Ryan nodded his thanks, waiting for the Empyrean woman to pour herself an equal measure of the ale and raise her tankard to him before he took a sip. It had a rich flavour all its own, hearkening him back to a certain microbrewery he used to frequent back home. "Lordy Ama, but that's good."

"My newest brew. Fortunately, this one seems to have been a success." Then she frowned as she asked, "Physically fine?" She fanned a hand over the table, indicating he help himself to the food.

"The doc said there isn't any permanent brain or tissue damage that they can detect, but he's still damn depressed. He's supposed to see a shrink for a psychological evaluation." He frowned.

"A shrink?" Ama asked with a bemused smile.

"Sorry, another Earth term." He picked up a round, golden brown tidbit, covered in luscious sauce, and popped it into his mouth, groaning in pleasure at the unique and utterly unfamiliar taste. "Derived from _headshrinker._ Headhunters were savages that used to dry and shrink the heads of their enemies as trophies, like a medal of honour to your people or mine. It was supposed to paralyse the soul of the victim so he couldn't make it to the afterlife and take revenge on his murderer's ancestors, or exact revenge on his murderer in this life. It was specific to a tribe of Ecuadorians called the _Jivaro_ Indians, whose very name at one time was synonymous with violent death and all manner of other disagreeable traditions."

"Recent in your history?" Ama raised her eyebrows.

"Well, it's all relative, Ama. They weren't exactly what my people would refer to as civilized. Running around half-naked in the jungle, and living in huts."

"So, your own society didn't approve?" Ama asked.

"My society made it worse." Ryan admitted. "Keep in mind that this was a good eighty or so years before we launched the _Endeavour_, and at that time, there were still many parts of our planet that were virtually inaccessible to what we would have considered 'civilised man'. Air travel was in its infancy, and some places could be reached only by dugout canoe, or foot. So when this tribe and their trophies were first discovered, our people had a horrible fascination with the novelty of the practice. As a result, so-called civilised people started trading weapons for shrunken heads. They became curios, as well as filling museums and even private collections. And since the Jivaro wanted weapons to make war on their tribal neighbours to acquire additional territory, they happily met the demand. Finally, that country's government had to step in, but not to prevent the practice of shrinking heads, as you or I might assume, but to stop the trade of the same."

"Are you trying to shock me, Paddy-Ryan?" Ama asked, taking a deep drink from her tankard, and swallowing a full third of its contents, as was customary. She looked at him over the rim, eyebrow raised.

"Like the Colonials, we have a violent history. But for us it was man against man, not man against machine. There's no counting the people who have died in all our stupid wars."

"It you looked back far enough in Colonial history, you would likely find the same. Unfortunately, much ancient recorded history was lost in the Destruction. I'm not certain that any Pre-Kobollian history has survived. We'd far rather discuss our intellectual and social development, than any unpalatable past." She smiled, passing him a plate of breaded ovinian bites delicately seasoned with fresh herbs. "I notice Commander Dayton seems to avoid such tales."

"He probably thinks you'll hold it against us," Ryan shrugged. "Come to Earth, land of the Javaro Indian. We have lots of headspace." He waggled his eyebrows and then crossed his eyes before helping himself to another bite. "In answer to your original question, psycho-therapy has always been looked on with some level of scepticism as an actual science, thus the reason we refer to them as shrinks."

"The Human mind is complex and mysterious, indeed. We are still far from realizing our full potential in many areas."

"I get the idea you've progressed a little further than the average bear." He grinned at her look of enquiry, thinking back to Yogi Bear and his pick-a-nic basket. "Never mind. Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"I sense that you need to get Dickins down to the planet."

Ryan paused in delivering another morsel to his mouth. "Say again?"

"Did you not understand it the first time?" Her tone suggested he was either a little dense, or deaf.

"C'mon lady, 'I sense that you need to get Dickins down to the planet'!" He tried to mimic her. "How about explaining why?"

"It came to me in a vision." She replied.

"What were you drinking?"

She laughed. "Now _that_ sounds like something Starbuck would ask. I have no need to fall into an alcoholic stupor to allow my spirit to rise beyond my body."

"You're losing me, lady," Ryan replied gruffly, tipping his tankard to his lips and downing half of the contents. _Mystical twaddle! _He should have let Porter come.

"You'd prefer not to explore the possibilities. You're not comfortable with something you can't understand or explain. Something that is not a mathematical equation, or a chemical formula. Faith is the ability to push aside doubt, and embrace the unknown, Paddy-Ryan."

"Faith is a weakness, Ama. Faith is blaming everything that goes wrong on some supposedly omnipotent force, because you don't have the strength, the character, or the _guts_ to take responsibility for it yourself." Venom seemed to drip from his words.

"And how was it your fault that the _Endeavour_ was sucked into a vortex, which you and the others had the power neither to create nor negate, and then delivered to another star system? That you ended up as the prisoner of murderous and cruel space pirates for thirty yahrens?" She asked quietly, continuing when he dropped her gaze and lapsed into stony silence. "Was it merely coincidence that brought the _Galactica _to your very doorstep?" She shook her head, exactly the way his second grade teacher used to do when pointing out a flaw in his logic. "Out of the unthinkably vast expanse of the universe, is it but chance that you should encounter beings of the same species as your own, headed for your very planet of birth?" She shook her head again. "No. It was predestined that our paths should cross, Paddy-Ryan."

He shook his head, refusing to believe her.

"The what is fate?" she whispered.

"A crock," he replied flatly. "There's no rhyme or reason to any of this, Ama. The world just keeps turning . . ." He fell silent again, realizing a parallel to his home planet may not be appropriate on a space ship. Curiously, she waited, allowing him to gather his thoughts. "I refuse to believe I'm just some . . . a pawn on a gigantic game board, fulfilling a role someone else has written for me, until I've served my purpose. Then I croak."

"Yet the game of life is the reason we're all here. Playing is so much more gratifying than sitting on the sidelines and observing."

"Lady, you talk in riddles. I feel like I just stepped into Wonderland, and I'm having tea with Alice and Company."

"If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does." She replied with an enigmatic smile. "Is that it?"

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, recognizing her words as coming from that particular story. "How could you possibly know . . .?" He considered her suspiciously, for a moment feeling a little afraid.

"I know many things. Some of them even useful." She leaned back against the cushion and considered him. "I know that more than anything else, Dick-Dickins needs hope. A solid and meaningful reason to go on. Perhaps you do as well."

"Stop playing with me, Ama," he growled. "If you have something to say, just say it."

"I already did. Dick-Dickins needs to get down to that planet. _You__ . . ."_she pointed a finger at him, "need to figure out how."

"Based on?"

"Based on my vision, dear heart."

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. One, two, three. . . Then another. "And what was this vision you had?" He took another drink of his ale.

"That Dick-Dickins was going home."

"Home?" Ryan asked, almost choking on his ale.

"To Earth."

xxxxxxxxxx

Considering how many men Adama had seen tragically or mortally injured during his yahrens of military service, it was surprisingly difficult for him to behold the transformation of Cain since the injuries he had received a couple sectars previously. As far back as Adama could remember, Cain had been unrelenting, and the very epitome of strength and conviction in the war against the Cylons. To see him limp heavily through the corridors of the _Galactica_, dragging his affected leg behind him while his walking stick clicked on the deck, his right hand contracted, his face slack on the same side . . . it was more dispiriting than he had expected

He realized that despite knowing Cain's faults firsthand, he had still come to _believe_ in his indomitable legend. A man who had risen through the ranks, by sheer guts and single-minded determination, with a record and a reputation for achieving the impossible, and getting his people to do the same. A tactician of unequalled brilliance who had a gift for recognizing and predicting the enemy's strategy, and _always_ being at least one or two moves ahead of them. A survivor against all odds, even in the thick of seemingly hopeless battle.

"Adama, I get the idea that no matter _what_ you do, these Dynamos are going to be one step ahead of you." Cain told him, leaning heavily on his cane as he turned from the viewport, after listening to the latest report from Colonel Tigh on the inexplicable spheres that the _Galactica_ had tangled with twice now. He glanced at Sheba, who was uncharacteristically silent, perhaps out of deference for the three senior officers before her. Then he turned back to his old friend. "I think we need to take a chance. It sounds like whatever defensive pattern they were taking is changing. Now that could be good or bad." He lifted his cane slightly, tapping it on the floor once before resting on it once again. "I suggest we send two of my fighters in there to test the waters. If Dr. Wilker's hypothesis about the Dynamos being some kind of energy source or conduit for planetary engineering specifically for Humans is correct, then Vipers should be able to penetrate the atmosphere through this hole in the grid that is opening up." He again lifted his cane, using it as a pointer stick to indicate the now unoccupied position on the War Room's navigation board that had formally been covered by a Dynamo, which was currently converging with the others on a position where they had first detected Starbuck's emergency beacon.

"_Your_ fighters?" Adama asked in surprise, glancing at Tigh. It took him aback. Then again, Cain had a history of offering up his own people for missions that he couldn't gain support for. It had intimidated and even shamed more than one military leader into following his lead, with victory as the usual result. "Cain, according to the report that Captain Sheba sent, you only have two."

For a micron, the other looked uncertain, his gaze once again falling upon his new Strike Captain, then his lips twitched ever so slightly. Sheba opened her mouth, as if to intervene, but Cain carried on. "Actually, I have four. You don't think I was going to return Sheba and Bojay's Vipers, when most of Silver Spar is still seconded to you, do you?" It seemed the Juggernaut half-smiled for a moment. Or perhaps it was scowl he couldn't quite manage. "After all, when the time is right, we'll have to redistribute the squadrons to weight our forces appropriately."

"You mean evenly." Adama clarified.

"I mean _appropriately_, Adama." Cain returned. "But that's another topic altogether that I think we should broach after we decide how we're going to take out this Cylon Base and find out what in Hades Hole is going on down there."

"Then you agree we need to investigate the possible connection to Earth further?" Adama asked.

"Truthfully, Adama, I don't give a rat's astrum about the connection to Earth." He shrugged indifferently, in a micron making it clear that the quest for Earth wasn't necessarily one he was enamoured with. "I care about defeating the Cylons. I want to know what a Cylon Base is doing out here this far from the Homeworld. Does it mean they penetrated the galaxy further along than we ever suspected? Instead of us assuming we're out in front of them, perhaps we should consider that a Cylon attack is just as likely to come from ahead of us, as behind us." Cain suggested.

Adama drew in a breath. "I never considered that the Cylons could have found Earth before us." He exchanged glances with Tigh and Sheba.

"It's possible that another war, much like the one fought in our Colonies, could be happening in Earth's solar system." Cain mused. "Even as we speak."

"All the more reason to go and offer our support."

"That could take generations, Adama. You don't know how close you are to Earth. Don't you think that our people should have more to live for than an endless journey across the galaxy, ending in yet _another _war?" Cain asked vehemently.

"As long as the Cylons are pursuing us, Cain, then we _have_ to keep going. Every time we've thought we've lost them, they've found us again, no matter where we've headed. My greatest hope, has always been to find the military support to finally defeat them amongst our brothers on Earth." As much as Dayton had insisted time and time again, that they needed to either decisively defeat the Cylons, or lose them, it simply hadn't seemed to be a viable option as yet. Then again that was before the _Pegasus_—and her illustrious Commander—both limped back into their quadrant. Perhaps . . .

"Heck of a way to treat a brother, Adama. It's like showing up uninvited for dinner with a enemy squadron riding in on your tail vapours." He smiled his crooked half-smile again. "Besides, from what you've told me of these Earthmen you picked up, and their ship, their people are comparatively primitive in their technology. If the Cylons _do _manage to find Earth before us, then that planet will probably go the way of the Delphian Empire. It will be just another Cylon stronghold."

Adama glanced at Sheba and Tigh. who appeared shaken at that thought. He knew exactly how they felt. "From everything that we understand, these men travelled through some kind of wormhole, Cain. It's possible that the Earth we eventually find, is vastly different in its technology than the Earth they left."

"It's possible, but I prefer to deal in the probable. The probabilities are that the Cylons have penetrated the galaxy further than we ever thought, and that Earth as a Human colony has, like our own homeworlds, ceased to exist."

"Based on a small outpost that we don't know anything about?" Adama replied sceptically. "I'd say your probability is based more on your desire to destroy the Cylons and alter our current course, than on any hard data, Cain."

"Well . . . you may have something there." Cain smiled slightly, looking at Sheba. She shook her head at him ever so slightly. He frowned, and turned back to Adama. "This can wait for another time. Have you considered that the Cylons are behind this Dynamo technology? That it's a trap? For all we know, there could be a Cylon task force on its way right now to finish us all off."

Adama hesitated. Cain seemed to be unusually random in his thoughts, presenting various scenarios simply to get his point across. However, they seemed contradictory, something quite unlike the Cain he knew. "You're suggesting?"

"That we get down there and get to the bottom of this." Cain returned, again lifting his cane to accent his point. "The answers are on that planet, Adama. Yet we sit here afraid of what _might_ happen because we don't understand the technology. Well, learning about it isn't going to happen here." He fanned a hand across the War Room. "If there's truly a planetary control centre that the Dynamos are communicating with, then the answers will be there. We start from there, and build on what we do understand, and know for a fact, or can reasonably deduce. Sometimes you have to take a chance, old friend."

Adama sighed. As random and convoluted as Cain's arguments seemed, he did have some valid points. And the answers that they needed did lie planetside. "Tigh, do we have a prediction of when we think we can safely penetrate the atmosphere?"

"Roughly three centars, Commander." Tigh replied. "Lieutenant Jolly's patrol is awaiting orders."

Risking two more Viper pilots when his gut instinct was telling him not to, just wasn't sitting well with Adama. When Starbuck's patrol had made contact, it had sent an inexplicable series of events into place, apparently being driven by the Dynamos, or whatever power controlled them. He couldn't take a chance that another contact would make these dangerous weapons react in a way that would endanger the Fleet. There was too many unknowns. Cain waited expectantly, assuming Adama would bend to his will. The Juggernaut leaned heavily against a wall, glancing at a chair, then frowning and steadfastly looking away. His indomitable will aside, it seemed his physical limits were nearing their peak.

"Still no sign of any Base Ships that are supporting this base?" Adama turned to Tigh. "Other than the wreck adrift?"

"Nothing on the scanner." Tigh confirmed with a frown. "Giles' patrol is due back in comm range in . . ." he checked his chrono . . . "six centons." Of course they all knew that the current tactical situation could change in a heartbeat. But the Cylons had known of their presence for centars, and if support ships _were_ coming, then they could have certainly have dropped screaming out of lightspeed by now.

"Then instruct Jolly's patrol to return to the _Galactica_."

Cain let out a deep, weary breath. "I think you're making a mistake, Adama."

"It's mine to make," he reminded the other. "And my responsibility if I'm wrong. Now, you look as though you could use some rest, my old friend."

"Dr. Salik is expecting us in the Life Station." Sheba smoothly inserted.

"At this centar?" Cain protested.

"Father, you've gone without proper medical care for long enough," Sheba returned, her concern for her father evident.

"Sheba's right, Cain." Adama nodded. "After such an injury, protocol dictates that . . ."

"Blast, Adama! I've been commanding the _Pegasus_ for two sectars since that injury." He stood upright, straightening his back, his chin held high. For a moment, he looked more like his old self. Strong and indomitable. The intrepid Juggernaut. "This is a waste of precious time."

"Still, it is dictum." Adama returned calmly. "It would be no different if it were me. You know that."

Cain let out a harsh breath. "If you insist." It was clear he wasn't happy about it.

"I'm afraid I do."

Cain nodded, and muttering something about gollmonging snitradious regulations, he was accompanied by his daughter out of the room. Sheba turned, and mouthed a silent _Thank-you _to Adama. He nodded in return. Once they were gone, he turned to the Colonel.

"I want to talk to Giles as soon as his patrol lands, Tigh. And, depending on what they report, I'm going to take a risk."

"The Dynamos, sir?"

"No, not yet. If we get the all-clear, I'm going to send a salvage team to the derelict Base Ship. I read Sheba's recommendations. I agree we need to get started as soon as possible."

"Now, Sir? When we've lost communications with Apollo's team, and we still don't know the strength of the Cylon base?"

"Yes, now. We're going to take her, Tigh. From Sheba and Bojay's scans, she's still partly intact, and her bunkers are still mostly full of fuel. We need to take advantage of every resource possible." He sighed. "One way or the other, if we're going to have two functioning battlestars, and any chance of ever losing the Cylons . . . or defeating them . . ."

"Then you are still considering it?" Tigh asked hesitantly, allowing some hope to creep into his voice.

Adama sighed. "Yes. Commander Dayton has made some valid points. So did Cain."

"According to Sheba's reports on the _Pegasus_' battle damage, we'll need a lot of scrap to even begin repairs on her." Tigh paused, raising his eyebrows. "There may be usable data in her computers as well, telling us what she was doing out here, and whether she was part of a larger task force that continued on after establishing this base."

"Precisely. Is there a chance that they've found Earth before us? We need information, as well as firepower, if we are to survive. This may be just the Godsend we've been hoping for."

"Yes, sir," said Tigh, feeling his CO's excitement. "I'll get on it at once."

"Very well."

"Bridge to Commander," came Athena's voice.

"Adama here."

"Lieutenant Giles' patrol now back in comm range, Commander."

"Excellent. Have them report to me as soon as they land. Launch the next patrol on the roster at once."

"Sir."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Eighteen centons, huh?"

Jolly frowned. What should have taken eighteen centons—as a dispirited Lia had just pointed out—was stretching out closer to a centar, especially because once the Portable Mobilization Unit had come within fifty metrons of the Dynamos, the mysterious spheres had suddenly increased velocity, reaching a speed that the PMU's couldn't attain.

That had, of course, required them to retrieve PMU-1 and use a magnetic lock to reattach it to Jolly's ship. Then they pursued at a considerable distance, monitoring the progress and speed of the elusive spheres. The lieutenant shook his head, as he realized the now steady velocity of the Dynamos was such that Wilker's toys would be useless. It was as if they had somehow analysed the PMU, and had decided how to best neutralize it.

"Patience, Lia," Jolly told her, trying to come across far calmer than he felt. The truth was, he was just as anxious as she was. Boomer and Starbuck were like kinsmen to him, after all these yahrens of flying together. Apollo was something slightly more than that. He had never quite been able to put into words how he felt about his Strike Captain. Like the others, he cared for him like a kinsman, but he held Apollo in such high esteem, that he couldn't even imagine the blow it would be if something happened to their skipper. For all of them, he had to find a way through the Dynamos.

Now they were holding position, awaiting orders. He had briefed the Commander on the situation, but Adama needed Wilker's input, wondering if the power could somehow be boosted, or it was as limited as first described.

"If I had as many names as those Earthlings, then patience would be one of them." Lia replied lightly.

Atta, girl! He smiled, knowing she was lying through her perfectly straight white and dainty teeth that lit up a room when she smiled . . . uh . . . Lia was a breed unto herself. Born to an Imperial Family that didn't behave like any Royalty that he had ever heard of, she was a mixture of fierce independence, old-world etiquette, and intelligence. All wrapped up in one of the prettiest packages he had ever seen.

"_Galactica_ to Viper Five, come in Lieutenant Jolly." Colonel Tigh's familiar voice.

"I read you, Colonel." Jolly replied. "Go ahead."

"Lieutenant, according to our scans, the Dynamos are continuing to alter their position, and it appears as though a . . . a possible hole in the defensive network may be opening up."

"Do you want us to check that out, Colonel?"

"Negative. Return to the _Galactica_."

"Sir?"

"For us to be reasonably sure the Dynamos are out of range, I don't want anyone in that quadrant for at least another three centars."

Jolly nodded, realizing that Command was finally willing to take a chance. . . even if it seemed a long way off They were out of options. "Sir, I'd like to volunteer to take that assignment when you deem it appropriate to send out that patrol."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant."

"Excuse me, Colonel," Lia inserted, "I'd also like to volunteer."

A short pause. "Consider yourselves on the roster. Now return to base."

"Aye, sir!"

Slowly, using only their manoeuvring thrusters at minimum power, both Vipers turned around, careful to avoid any energy outputs from their main power plants that might trigger a Dynamo attack. Equally slowly, they pushed away from the planet till they were reasonably certain they were out of range, and the planet was the size of a thumbnail. Then, kicking in turbos, they were gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The only light was that cast from the starscape stretching across the sky. Dayton took a deep breath, feeling the chill night air on the back of his throat and then puffed out, watching the resulting condensation as he had as a child on a cold, winter's day in Chicago. Of course, the difference was the utter silence and the lack of ambient light from the lights of the city. As he studied the alien constellations, he tried to be scientific. Try as he might, he could find no Pole Star for this world, at least not at this point in its precession cycle. And the patterns of stars were amusing in some ways. One grouping reminded him of a haystack, another of a mailbox.

He fell again to pondering how a terraformed planetcould even be, and what could be the cause of its periods of accelerated dynamics, when he heard a sound behind him. He reached for his weapon, then relaxed. "You know, you make enough noise to wake a destroyed Cylon."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Kind of got used to that nice comfy mattress on the _Rising Star_," Dayton returned over his shoulder. He'd heard Baker come up behind him. Had known it was his friend by the way he moved, and the sound of his breathing. He could ID any of them—Ryan, Baker, Porter, or Dickins—without actually looking at them. A little mind game he had played to keep himself sharp during his stay with Torg and Bex. "You either?"

"No."

"Cold?" Dayton asked.

"No, although I felt a little jealous of Starbuck having Luana to snuggle up against." Baker replied with a wry smile as he stood beside the commander.

"Yeah."

"You know, you were out of line with him . . ."

"I know," Dayton replied, cutting the other off. "At least I do _now_." It was apparent from the way Luana was interacting with Starbuck that she was completely happy with their arrangement. Considering their current situation, she looked more relaxed than Dayton had noticed in weeks. It made him wonder about her inexperience when she was obviously so confident that they would eventually be rescued, and would continue to evade the Cylons that knew this terrain so much better than they did. There were so many things that could still go wrong.

_ Oh, to be that young and naïve again._

"Why are you so hard on him?" Baker asked, breaking off a stalk of grass and chewing on it. "I mean, what he does with the ladies, or doesn't do, really ain't none of our business."

"I don't know." Dayton shrugged with a sigh. To Starbuck's credit, he had let Dayton's remarks run off him like water off a duck's back. He appeared totally unaffected by what any of them thought, whether they had said their piece or not. Maybe he was used to being slammed for his behaviour. "But I'm guessing you're about to tell me."

Baker chuckled. "Well, since you mentioned it. He's not far off your own kids' age, and he acts so much like _you_, especially before you married Yvonne, that you'd think you were two peas in a pod. Hell, I haven't forgotten 'Lock Up Your Daughters Dayton'."

Dayton grunted. It wasn't the first time their similarity in nature had been pointed out to him.

Baker waited for a few moments. "Well, I'm glad we had that little chat."

"That's it?" Dayton asked, surprised. Ryan would have raked him over the coals. And then turned him over, to make sure both sides were done.

"I'm your friend, not your mother."

"So I noticed. And she's prettier than you are."

"Not much," Baker grunted. He stood up. "You relieved Boomer when you showed up early?"

"Yeah. Starbuck should be relieving me . . ." He glanced down at his timepiece, activating the light, "in about thirty Colonial centons."

"Is there _another_ kind of centon that I should be aware of?"

"The Cylons use 'em, too."

"Good. If they attack again, then they'll be on time," Baker returned. He tossed the well-chewed stalk of grass aside. "Well, I think I'm gonna try and get some more shuteye before sunrise." He turned to go, then paused, calling over his shoulder, "You know, an apology wouldn't be amiss."

Dayton smiled wryly, "Yes, mother."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was actually a lot easier gaining access to the most secure military vessel in the Colonial Service than Ryan had imagined. When Ama had told him he needed to figure out a way to get Dickins down to Planet 'P', he had already run several tentative plans through his head—all of them bad—just in case Adama was reticent about any attempt at rescuing Dayton and Baker. Everything from stealing a transport shuttle and using Sire Uri as a hostage, to simply approaching the Commander and ranting and raving until the man saw the light. He abandoned both, one because Ama warned him that Adama could not be badgered, and the other because he doubted anyone would seriously want Uri back. However, while he was perfectly willing to break every law in the Colonial Code to save his friends, it had finally occurred to him that there might be a better way to approach this. Stage one of his plan—gaining access to the _Galactica_—had gone smoothly enough. After all, he had the powers of the Empyrean Necromancer on his side, and though he hadn't actually figured out what those specifically were, they had to be pretty damn powerful to influence him to cut off his long hair.

"We weren't expecting an order," the bartender of the OC told him, looking over the usual electronic invoice that Ryan had handed him to approve.

"I already told you. This is gratis. Complements of Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists." Ryan explained, trying to affect Ama's accent, and not doing a bad job of it.

"Uhh. . .what's _gratis_?" asked the barkeep. "Earth word, ain't it?"

"Umm. . .it means 'free'. I guess I've been hanging around the Earthlings too long. One of their words."

"Oh, okay," replied the other, shrugging.

Inwardly, Ryan exhaled, as he snowed the other man. Now, he had met this barkeep face to face in the Officer's Club as a guest of Starbuck's on more than one occasion, but with his grey hair cut somewhat short, and returning to a mass of unruly curls that he had despised from the time he was young enough to be mistaken for a girl, as well as sporting his new Empyrean leather tunic and Colonial style pants and boots, the other man didn't show the slightest sign of recognizing him. "It's a new brew, the Empyrean Brown Nectar. As a company we'd like our servicemen to be the first to try it."

"Well, I can't argue with good policy," the barkeep replied cheerfully, turning to take the first keg of ale into the back.

Across the room, Ryan could see Ensign Lia sitting at a table with another member of Starbuck's squadron, a hefty fellow who looked like he could stand to lose a few extra pounds. Or kilons. Or whatever the hell they called them around here. He'd met him on one or two occasions, but admittedly always when he was half lit. Wracking his brain, he tried to recall the man's name. Something about the _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_ came to mind. He glanced back at the storeroom where the barkeep was still busy, then headed over.

While he was still several feet away, Lia looked up, studying him curiously. Her brow was knit in consternation as she tried to place him, and he smiled reassuringly as he stopped at their table. "Hello, Lia." He nodded at the lieutenant as well. "Happy."

Lia's face lit up in a smile of amusement while Happy . . . didn't look all that happy. He wondered for a moment if he had the wrong dwarf. Maybe he was actually 'Grumpy'.

"Ryan?" Lia asked in surprise, pushing her chair back and climbing to her feet. She looked him up and down, and then reached forward and gently tugged at a curl of his hair.

"In the flesh, Princess," Ryan replied with a smile, taking her hand and raising it to her lips chivalrously as he bowed low. "I was speaking to your God-mom, and I seem to have a bit of a problem that I was hoping you could help me with." He glanced at Happy, hoping the other would shove off without too much prompting. "I hope I'm not interrupting something, Lieutenant Happy."

"Jolly." The lieutenant replied with a frown.

"Oh." Apparently, word association had let him down. "Sorry 'bout that."

Jolly snorted, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. "Believe me, I'm been called worse." He glanced at his chrono, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. "I was just about to grab a drink anyway."

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Ask the bartender for the new Empyrean Brown Nectar. It's to die for."

"Come again?" Jolly asked.

"Nowhere mind," Ryan returned with a faint smile, reminded of one of Baker's Standard slips, and wondering how his friends were making out on Planet 'P'. He was still waiting on that update from Tigh that they had been promised. He turned back to Lia as the warrior headed for the bar. "Any chance you'll be seeing Dayton in the near future?" He motioned for her to take a seat, then sat opposite her.

"Ryan . . ." Lia frowned.

He leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. "I know your missions are officially classified, but Ama told me that I need to get Dickins down to Planet 'P' somehow. I already know that the _Endeavour_ crashed, and that they're trying to figure out if it's safe to get them out of there." At least the latter were the conclusions he had drawn. "Frankly, I think you're my best bet."

"Because I'm a pilot?" Lia asked, her face a vision of scepticism. "Or because I'll listen to Ama?"

"Well, admittedly both of those factors entered the equation," he returned with a brief smile.

She sat across from him, folding her arms, her face impassive.

"Please, Lia." Ryan pleaded. "Ama thinks that somehow we can get Dick back home."

"Home? But he. . ." Her mouth gaped open for an instant as it clicked into place. "You mean . . .back to your planet? Back to Earth?"

"Yeah. I don't pretend to begin to understand her, or how she sees these things. But yeah. Earth."

"How?" Lia shook her head in bewilderment.

"I don't know. But, you know Ama better than anyone else. She has a way of telling you exactly what to do, without ever really explaining why, and the next thing you know . . ." He splayed his hands wide, palms up, adding a shrug for good measure, "you're doing it."

"You believe her." She didn't seem the least bit surprised by that.

"I have to believe her, Lia. Dick tried to kill himself. Colonial Fleet life isn't exactly agreeing with him."

"It has to be better than that asteroid you were on."

"Yeah, but something happened to Dick there, Lia." He swallowed, wondering what he should tell her, and how much time he had to tell it. "It was tough. On every one of us. And we couldn't give up and abandon hope, no matter how bloody hopeless getting out of that hellhole seemed at times." An involuntary shudder ran through him as he was mentally transported back to the fetid, damp caverns where they harvested 'rotting root' for almost half of their lives. "Some of us lived to escape. Dick . . . he lived for revenge."

"Did he get it?" Lia asked hesitantly.

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it as he thought about it. As ridiculous as it seemed, every one of them had been just a little bit choked that the man who had killed both Torg and Bex had only just arrived in the compound—though they hadn't discussed it until weeks later. More than once Ryan had wondered about the sequence of events that had resulted in Starbuck being the guy who finally rid the universe of two men who made rabid pit bulls look like lovable lapdogs. "In a way. Dick led the charge when we stormed their base. You probably remember he was almost killed, but he eliminated a few pirates before that." 'Massacred' would have been a better word, but Lia didn't need to hear it.

"Since we arrived in the Fleet and he was released from the Life Station, it's like he doesn't know how to fit in. You live thirty years with nothing on your mind but revenge . . ." He shook his head, not able to look her in the eye, because she might realize that he too had that dark, deep part of him that he tried to keep hidden away. Jaysus Murphy, they all did. "All I know is, he isn't the man I knew and trained with, and went into Space with. His mind. . ." He sagged a little, shaking his head. He looked up. Jolly was still at the bar, and the chunky lieutenant was watching them curiously. Ryan glanced back at Lia. "If there's a snowball's chance in Hell of getting him home, I have to try. I'm not ready to bury another friend . . . or whatever you do up here in space."

"What about the rest of you?" Lia asked. "Surely if there's a way to get Dickins home . . ."

Ryan shrugged. "I asked Ama, she just gave me an enigmatic look . . ." He still remembered the feeling of his stomach dropping into his boots when he realized that Dick would likely be the only one going home. It didn't make any sense, but then this whole scenario didn't make any sense as far as he was concerned. It was like a bad science fiction/fantasy episode from the seventies relying on good-looking actors, and tight pants.

"I would have thought that you'd be the last person to believe a Necromancer," Lia mused, fingering her glass idly.

"Well . . ." he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what, or how much I believe, but sometimes you just gotta say, what the fu . . ."

"Frack," she inserted.

"Yeah, well, I haven't quite wrapped my brain around that whole 'frack' as a expletive thing."

"Ryan, I can't exactly pop over to the _Rising Star_'s Life Station, pick Dick up, and cram him in my Viper before I head out on the mission."

"Then you are on the mission?" Ryan smiled, his pulse quickening with the news. While Ama wasn't related to these girls by blood, he knew they were just as resourceful and determined as the Necromancer when it came to getting what they wanted. Somehow he knew that she would manage to insert herself on a rescue mission, even if she had to hickeybob on the back of Jolly's Viper.

She sighed, leaning closer. "I shouldn't be discussing this with you."

He took her hand gently. "I'm not the enemy, Lia. I just want to help my friend. My friends. Luana and Starbuck are counted among them too. You know that."

She nodded, not an inkling of doubt on her features. As if she could read his mind as easily as Ama. "I know."

"This is just between you and I. I swear."

"What about Porter?" Lia arched an eyebrow.

"Well . . . I might tell Jimmy." He smiled weakly. "With your permission."

"Triquetra, give me strength," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She looked deep into her mug, and rapped her knuckles on the table top a few times. Then, with a deep breath, she leaned back. "Alright, I'm on the mission, but so far all we're doing is probing a hole in the defence network."

"But surely, if you get through without a problem, Adama will order you down to the surface?"

"I would _expect_ so," she replied. "But . . . if there's really a Cylon Base, it would be more likely that we send an entire task force all at once. I think the focus of this has changed from a rescue mission to an all-out attack."

"They're not going to destroy that Control Centre, are they?" However they were going to get Dick home, it had to do with the Control Centre—which they all assumed the Cylons now occupied.

"I doubt it. There's too many unanswered questions. They'll want to retrieve as much data as they can. This could be a treasure trove of information, like they've never had before."

"That might be our 'in'." Ryan pondered. "Look, all I need you to do is tell Dayton to come up with a reason to make us part of the Away Team."

"What's an 'Away Team'?"

"Too 'Star Trekish' for you?"

"In Standard, Ryan."

"I was speaking Standard." He glanced back at the bar to see Lieutenant Jolly conversing with the barkeep, both of them looking his way. "Okay, 'landing party'. Look, if there's intelligence to retrieve, than a separate team with shuttles will be sent down there after the base is secured. Somehow, Dayton _has_ to come up with a story that will place us on that team."

"You mean lie." She frowned. "Right?"

"Lies are only creative versions of the truth," he replied. "Or, if you prefer, artful redistributions of factual percentages."

"That's a sad commentary on your society."

He smirked. "Chameleon taught me those."

Her mouth opened slightly to form a silent oh.

"Can you help me out, Lia? All I'm really asking is for you to give Dayton a message."

"What happens if I refuse?" she asked. "Technically, I'm breaking more than one regulation just sitting here talking about it with you."

"Then I'll have to figure out how to hijack a shuttle with enough important hostages aboard that Adama would guarantee us safe passage to the surface." He paused as she looked back at him, horrified. "I'd rather not do that, but if I have to, I will. Desperate situations call for desperate measures. And I will do whatever the hell it takes to help my friend. Or die trying."

"Sagan's socks, Ryan . . ." She murmured, running a hand over her face as if to hide her reaction from those watching. "All right. I'll tell Dayton. But I'm telling Starbuck too."

"Just don't tell the captain."

"I won't." She promised after a moment. "But I can't guarantee that Starbuck won't. I'll leave it to him."

"Fair enough." Dayton could handle Starbuck.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Flip a cubit?"

"Hmm?" Wilker's brow furrowed, as he turned away from the comm unit in the Science Lab. Colonel Tigh had just informed him that a salvage and data retrieval team would be leaving in a centar. A science officer or technician had to be on it. "What was that, Hummer?"

"Flip a cubit," Hummer repeated with a grin. "One of us has to go to the Cylon Base Ship on the salvage assignment, and one of us will be going on the mission to the planet." He withdrew a coin from his tunic. "So, shall we?" He tossed the coin up in the air and caught it.

"I'm trying to decide if there's a way to clone myself and do _both,_" Wilker mused with an enigmatic smile. Both assignments were enticing, to say the least. One—retrieving relevant data from a derelict Cylon Base Ship to see if it was possible that the Cylons had penetrated this system long before their Human counterparts, and two—getting to the bottom of the mysterious 'Planet P' and perhaps accessing a totally new and unfamiliar technology in what they had theorized was some kind of control centre for planetary engineering currently under Cylon occupation. Planetary engineering on a scale even the most visionary Colonial scientists had never even dreamed of.

"Well, I've been working on a 'Wilker II' prototype . . ." Hummer rejoined, stringing along the science officer. "But I'm having trouble finding a hairpiece that matches. We seem to have a surplus of orange fur though."

"Almost amusing," Wilker replied with a straight face, ignoring the obvious allusion. "Come to think of it, I need someone to clean out the waste recycling plant on Epsilon Deck." He raised his eyebrows at the other before continuing with a faint smile, "I'll go on the salvage mission, Hummer. You get ready for Planet 'P'."

"Really?" Hummer's voice cracked with his excitement.

"Really." Wilker replied, his lips twitching. "I think you're ready for this."

"Thank you, sir." Hummer replied, any former teasing gone from his tone, and gratitude and respect written on his features.

"Now, requisition what you need, and get going."

"Right away," said Hummer, and rising from his seat, left the lab.

"Huh," said Wilker, looking at himself in a mirror, and running a hand through his hair. "Hairpiece!"

xxxxxxxxxx

"Starbuck."

"Just another thirty microns," he whispered to her, pulling Luana more tightly against him and nuzzling her neck. She reached back and ran a hand over his hip possessively. She smelled like a cross between campfire, Black-Backed Bobak, and . . . he took another breath . . . and fumarellos. He grinned, deciding he'd keep _that_ bit of romantic lyricism to himself. In his experience, most young women didn't want to be compared to Bobaks. Or for that matter anything four-footed. They tended to find it less than endearing. Instead, "You smell like an extremely rare and fine ambrosa. Smokey with just a hint of sweetness." Yeah, that usually was a lot more effective in situations like this.

She snorted in disbelief, turning in his grasp to face him. "You need a turbo wash." Still, she smiled. "About . . ." she sniffed, "four centars long, I'd say. I can't believe you're actually in the mood to . . ."

"Uh huh," he murmured. "And there's nothing like turbo washing with that special someone to conserve precious resources . . ." He leaned over her, caressing her lips with his own, pressing her body to his. If he was going to go out in the cold night air, he might as well stoke the fires before he left.

At least that was his initial thought. Then her warm body moved beneath him, and suddenly he had other ideas. Now the fact that there were four other adult males sleeping only metrons away, _did_ register in the three or four still-functioning cells in his brain, but not as much as the fingers dancing lightly across his back from where they had infiltrated his tunic, and her other hand raking his hair, and pulling him insistently against her.

"Lu . . ." he breathed.

"Mmm. . ."

A boot in his astrum changed all that abruptly.

"Starbuck!" Boomer hissed grumpily. "Do you _mind_!"

Starbuck drew in a ragged breath, glancing over at Boomer who was lying with his boot posed for another kick. Starbuck flashed him a grin, and looked back at Lu, "Duty calls . . ." Then he paused briefly thinking about how many times he had used that same line with Athena, Cassiopeia, Aurora, Miriam . . . He gave her another light kiss as she smiled up at him mischievously. "Gotta go."

Love you, she mimed up at him.

"You too."

"Oh, Lords . . ." Boomer muttered, rolling over and pulling his survival blanket more snugly around him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Salik could feel Commander Cain's eyes on him, following him around the Life Station as he visited his patients, checking their test results, exchanging a few words with some, leaving new orders and going about his usual routine. However, he'd dealt with impatient, anxiety-ridden, overwrought patients for so long, that he wasn't about to be intimidated by this one. Even if he was a living legend.

"Doctor!" Cain grumbled. "Is this thing done yet? I feel like I'm being subjected to some kind of Cylon interrogation technique."

The medical scanner passed slowly around the Juggernaut's head, once more obscuring Cain's twisted scowl, as it continued its study of his brain's neural and capillary pathways. Salik glanced over at Cassiopeia who was completing the complex series of studies that would give them not only a definitive diagnosis, but a plan of care. "Cassie?"

"Another centon," the blonde med tech replied from her station, glancing at her chrono. "I commed Sheba to join you, Commander. She told me she wanted to be here when the tests were concluded." Cain merely grunted in reply.

As if on cue, and just as the machine completed its scan, Sheba entered the Life Station, her eyes slightly red, and her lids heavy. The meeting with Command had stretched into the early centars of the rest period. She had tossed and turned for a few restless centars in the billet, instead of returning to the _Pegasus_, just so she could be there when her father's results were available. She had wanted to hear first hand exactly how Cain was, and how long it would take until he could resume full command of the _Pegasus_—something that no one present was aware he was now sharing with his daughter.

"Well?" Sheba asked, her features slightly pinched, looking between Salik and Cassiopeia as the med tech moved to disconnect Cain from the scanner.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant . . .uh, Captain. My apologies." Salik inserted, noticing her shiny new collar pins and _Pegasus_ insignia on her shoulders as he joined them. He pushed an available chair towards her.

She gazed at it hesitantly. From the expressions filtering across her face, she was clearly wondering if this was an indication she would need to sit down. "Thank you."

"Well, stop beating around the battlestar, Salik." Cain frowned as his daughter sat down. "Give me some answers." He glanced at Cassie, as the med tech retreated to her station once again. "And give it to me straight. No medical babble."

Salik nodded, looking over his medical data pad, and the collective results one last time. He drew in a deep breath before beginning. "The neural scans we did show regions of brain damage, due not only to traumatic injury during the actual battle you were in two sectars ago, but also from hypoxic changes that occurred as a result of arterial damage and a subsequent hemorrhage. Your physical disabilities—the weakness on the right side of your body, as well as some cognitive impairments—are the result."

"Reversible?" Cain asked.

At the same time Sheba asked, "To what extent?"

Salik paused as father and daughter looked at each other, then back to the physician. He held up a hand to Cain and looked at the young captain. "Sheba, you're obviously asking about the extent of the cognitive damage?"

She nodded, leaning forward instinctually in her chair as she awaited the answer.

"We do a cognitive assessment based on three things: acute history, long term symptoms, and a neuropsychological assessment including diagnostic tests. Based on those results, Commander Cain scored about seventy-three point six seven percent, indicating impairment that isn't conducive to commanding a Battlestar."

"Well, obviously you never met Commander Morpheus of the Battlecruiser Tekhen," Cain offered, with a mocking smile and little else.

Salik raised an eyebrow as he regarded the illustrious Commander. For a moment he wondered if this was a part of the cognitive impairment, or if instead it was another glimpse of the famous Cain bravado and a black sense of humour. The Tekhen had been destroyed yahrens ago just before the Battle of the Cosmora Archipelago, while under Morpheus' command. A lesser boasted fact of that particular battle, and subsequently part of the 'how not to' techniques in tactics and stratagem at the Academy. "Commander Cain, do you realize that with results like this, I _have_ to relieve you of command of the _Pegasus_."

Cain gazed steadily at the medical officer, while Sheba drew in a sharp breath, shooting to her feet. "Well, it wouldn't be the _first_ time that's happened to me aboard the _Galactica_, Salik." His tone indicated it would be a temporary arrangement as he swung his legs over the edge of the biobed and reached for his cane.

"Isn't there any treatment?" Sheba burst out, obviously shaken.

"Yes, of course." Salik replied. "Physical therapy and rehabilitation . . ."

"NO!" She said sharply, immediately softening her tone. "I mean, his cognitive impairment. Is there anything to reverse the brain damage?" Her eyes searched his.

Salik pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest before responding. "There was a new treatment that was being developed on Taurus at the Imhotep Medical University at the time of the Destruction . . ."

Cain looked up at that, narrowing his left eye. "What's that?"

"An implant."

"In my brain?" Cain looked horrified, and struggled to his feet. "What are you trying to turn me into? A gollmonging Cy. . ."

"Wait, Father." Sheba touched his arm lightly, stilling him. "What _kind_ of implant, Doctor Salik?"

"A small implant about the size of a data chip which releases both electrical impulses _and_neurotransmitters that act to artificially stimulate and regenerate ischemic neurons." Salik explained, watching confusion mixed with hesitance and hope wash across father and daughter's faces alike. How many times had he offered his patients a possible medical miracle, only in the next breath to temper it with the grim realities. Patiently, he translated for both. Then, "Obviously, there are many risks associated . . ."

"Never mind that, you're saying this . . . implant could make me... normal again." Cain glanced at his daughter with a smile. "Well, back to my old self, anyhow." She smiled weakly at his attempt at humour.

"It's possible." Salik nodded soberly. "But as I was saying, the technique was really still in the early stages of development. Many unknown factors remain."

"Meaning?" Cain asked.

"Meaning that at the time of the Holocaust, they had only tried it on simians, with brain structures quite similar to our own."

Cain stared at him for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes, and shook his head. He took a deep breath, then looked at the medical officer once again. "And you want to stick it in me?" He let out a dry laugh.

Salik shook his head. "As a physician, it's my role to let you know about _all_ of your options. Actually, I'd advise against it. The risks far outweigh the benefits. Not only might it not work, but the medical field hasn't developed proper criteria to evaluate it. Then there's the added risk that additional damage to your brain could occur during the surgery, leaving you even more mentally and physically disabled."

Cain's head shot up at that, and he glowered in Salik's direction.

"And if he doesn't take the chance on this new technique, then he loses command of the _Pegasus_ for good?" Sheba asked, her features grim.

"That's correct," Salik agreed. "Neither being a pleasant prospect, I grant you, Commander. Captain."

"Who would do the surgery?" Sheba asked.

"If Commander Cain insisted on having the surgery done, then we would have Dr. Sobek do it. He's the only surviving member of the medical team that was working on the project at the time, and is part of the medical research team on the Khepri."

"I didn't know we had a medical research team." Sheba murmured.

"Two-hundred-and-twenty ships is a lot to keep track of." Salik nodded.

"He's no longer involved in developing the technology?" Cain asked, displaying another glimpse of the incredible rational thought he had managed to maintain despite his injury.

"Well, I'm afraid that the long-ago requisitioned simians are difficult to supply from within the resources of the Fleet." Salik answered wryly. "Food and fuel seem to take priority."

"Well, we'll have to do something about that." Cain glanced at Sheba. "Captain, arm yourself with bananas, take a shuttle down to Planet 'P', and get the man some simians."

Sheba opened her mouth, then closed it. She studied him uncomfortably for a moment, glancing at Salik.

"Oh, for Sagan's sake, I'm joking." Cain added after a moment of silence, gently squeezing his daughter's arm. Her resulting smile seemed forced.

Salik nodded again. Commander Cain had apparently become quite the jokester since his head injury. Or so he'd have them all believe.

xxxxxxxxxx

The kid was late.

Now somehow Dayton wasn't really surprised by that. This was _Starbuck_, after all. And he probably deserved it, as Baker had pointed out.All the same, he was getting cold, and his generous and understanding nature was beginning to wear a bit thin. Like his hair.

He lifted his chin, hearing the slight swishing of the grasses coming from behind him. For the hundredth time in the last couple hours he glanced at the scanner, reassuring himself that their perimeter hadn't been breached, and that the interloper wasn't Cylon. He fingered the weapon he had resting in his lap. He had found this vista overlooking the grasslands, knowing he could see anything sneaking up on him from any direction. Then again, from what he'd heard, Cylons didn't sneak. They barged. The gentle, orange glow of the sun was beginning to cast a soft light across the tops of the distant snow-capped mountains, and he just sat and enjoyed the intoxicating view, not recalling when he had last seen this wonder of nature.

"Dayton." Starbuck said quietly as he came up the hill behind the other. "Good morning."

"Morning." He paused, then smiled, knowing the warrior couldn't see him. "You're late, Crème Frappuccino."

"Yep." As though he didn't have a care in the world.

Oh, there was something about that tone that made Dayton want to send the lieutenant out for a five mile run, or have him drop to the ground with his nose in the dirt for fifty push-ups. Of course, he didn't have any real military authority over Starbuck, but the image was satisfying on more than one level. Dayton stood up, slowly, and looked sidelong at the younger man as he came to a stop beside him. His face was impassive, other than a slight quirk to his lips, which Dayton realized indicated that the warrior knew he had managed to get on his nerves. Body language was one of the lieutenant's specialties. From yahrens of reading people whether in warfare, cards, or seduction, he could detect the subtle changes in posture, expression, and demeanour. With that irritating smile still in place, Starbuck patted down his flight jacket, obviously in search of a fumarello. "Don't tell me you start the day off with those things?" Dayton asked, an edge to his voice.

"Usually, I start the day off with a java. Strong. In this case, I'll make an exception," Starbuck returned, most of the grime gone from his face, but still lingering in his hair. His gaze swept over the landscape, his head turning from left to right, and back again. He squinted into the distance for a moment, smiling distractedly as he found a stub and held it in the air like a trophy. Within microns his ignitor was in hand and he was deftly lighting it. "What do you make of that?" he asked, nodding to the right, as he puffed away.

"What?" Dayton asked, peering into the dimness. He waved a hand against the smoke that wafted in his direction, musing that it really shouldn't matter. They all smelled like campfire and fumarellos at this point. "Where?"

"I'm guessing about four hundred metrons south-west, just to the right of that Quercus." He pointed in the distance, reaching down for the field glasses. "There's a boulder, about three metrons high just behind it. Whatever it is."

"What the hell's a _Quercus_?" Dayton asked as he squinted in that direction, spotting a few boulders that could match that description.

"The big, gnarly looking tree that towers over the others." Starbuck replied, holding the field glasses to his eyes, and adjusting the focus. "At least it looks like a Quercus. Frack."

"What?" Dayton could feel his chest hitching at Starbuck's tone. He still couldn't make out with his naked eyes what the kid was looking at, but he had played with the night vision feature on the binoculars to pass the time, and knew it was far superior to anything he had used back on Earth, or that they even had on the drawing board.

"It's a landram. Just sitting there," Starbuck replied, his brow furrowed. "I don't see any Cylons though, but even with the vision illumination, they could still be camouflaged by the grasses, or inside."

"Bloody hell, they could have ditched it there, and could be already headed this way." Dayton mused, checking his scanner once again, then turning in a circle to do a visual check. Nothing. And he hadn't heard anything to indicate the arrival of the armoured vehicle, only the sounds of the night. "Do you see anything immediately around us with the binoculars?"

"Did you just swallow an insecton?" Starbuck asked, as he swept the area. "What's bin-nock-yulars?" He managed to mutilate the word with his accent.

"What do you call them?" Dayton moved aside as Starbuck kept turning, the field glasses still in use.

"Field Magnifiers." Starbuck shook his head. "I don't see any sign of them."

"Big, shiny metal guys that move with the grace of a dumpster should stick out like a sore thumb, shouldn't they?" Dayton asked, itching to get his hands on the binoculars and check for himself.

"Yeah. They should. But they're not. Question is, why?" Starbuck frowned, handing the glasses to Dayton. "I'm going to go down and take a look around. You get back to base and let Apollo know . . ."

"Now wait just a minute, kid. "Dayton grabbed him by the arm. "We just finished hauling your ass out of a wildfire. I'm not letting you go down there alone." Dayton looked at him incredulously. "Who do you think you are? Me?"

Starbuck blew out a short breath. "Look, _one_ of us needs to let Apollo know what's happening." He cocked his head to the side, his lips twitching in amusement. "And I think it should be the blind one."

"Use the communicator!" The fact that Starbuck noticed the landram within seconds of arriving to relieve him was a bit hard to take. It was even harder to take when his nose was rubbed in it, which the kid seemed to be enjoying a hell of a lot. More than likely, it hadn't been light enough before that to notice. But admittedly, he should have _heard_ something.

"The Cylons are probably monitoring all frequencies, trying to pick up our signal. I'd rather if they didn't know that we know they're here. Even if you spoke Earthling to Baker, they could still be alerted to the fact that we're on to them."

Dayton nodded, seeing the sense in that. "And probably zero in on our transmission site, too. Fair enough, but I still don't think we should split up. We have enough men that it would be idiotic to go off without backup." He gripped Starbuck's arm a bit harder to get his attention, as the other looked off towards the Cylon landram with that familiar look on his face that inferred he was already planning his route through the dense foliage. Yeah, Dayton knew that look well. In fact, he'd perfected it as a young man. The kid had already made up his mind and wasn't even listening anymore. "Isn't that how you ended up as Torg's prisoner? Taking off on your own without backup, or orders?"

"Huh?" Starbuck looked back, intense concentration shifting into a cocky grin. "Hey, that turned out fairly well for you, from what I remember. And it wasn't so much that I didn't have orders . . . there was a signal delay, and I just chose not to wait for them."

"Why am I not surprised? And after being captured, tortured and helping us bust out of there, you ended up launching back into space even though you could barely stand, still determined to do things your own way." Dayton reminded him. "You blacked out in your cockpit. Bloody hell, kid, you're lucky to be alive."

"Lucky to be alive; that's the story of my life. All of ours, I guess. I suppose it would be out of place as an epitaph though." Starbuck mused, as though he was seriously considering it.

Oh, he loved to make light of a serious situation. Remind you of anyone, Dayton? "You're a stubborn SOB, Starbuck. But a good warrior. That I know. Just think about this for a minute." Dayton grabbed him with both hands by the flight jacket, his eyes drilling into the other's as he tried to talk some sense into the stubborn young man who had a definite nose for trouble. "That's where you fully activate all available brain cells, Speed Ball."

Starbuck's chin lifted slightly at that, his eyes narrowed. A muscle twitched at the corner of his jaw. "Sagan sakes, Dayton, sometimes I just want to drop you." He clenched his jaw, lifting his right hand slowly, squeezing it into a fist. He was drawn up tighter than a drum.

Dayton gritted his teeth, spitting out his words between them, "Yeah? Well, I wasn't aware you were carrying me . . ." he blustered.

"You ain't light, pal . . ." Starbuck sneered back, leaning forward until they were eye to eye.

" . . .But hey, you go right ahead and try it, buster, because I'd just love to . . ." Abruptly, Dayton stopped. It took him right back to the pirate control room, and a dead man slumped over his control desk. A man he'd killed with his bare hands when he'd allowed years of anger and hatred to consume him, turning him from a human being, into a cold, calculating killing machine, courtesy of his Air Force Special Operations Command training, as well as Torg and Bex. That had happened once more when he had tangled with Sire Dracus, turning the corrupt bureautician into Sire Meatpuzzle. And he knew he was capable of doing it again, the thought scaring him a little. Mind you, the last time he and Starbuck had seriously come to blows, the kid had done okay. Had thumped him, actually.

Dayton sucked in a deep breath as he stared into the warrior's eyes. They were exactly a nano-second from finishing their brawl in Adama's War Room from four sectars ago. He could see Starbuck just waiting for a signal, some sign that Dayton was really serious. He was showing a curious amount of restraint for such a hot head. Then again, a lot of water had passed under the bridge since then. Too much really for this to have escalated the way it had. He let go of the younger man, taking a step back from him both physically and emotionally. "Damn it, kid, sometimes you get on my last nerve, and rub it until I want to scream," he muttered.

"Right back at you, old man," Starbuck replied, running a hand through his hair and turning away. He pursed his lips, blowing out a long, slow breath. Then he shook his head before glancing back at Dayton. "Look, I should go down and do a little recon. See what we're up against. You brief Apollo." That said, he started forward.

"And if we waited, and did this together, we could mount a proper attack," Dayton called after him, determined to get his point across without actually throttling the other. "What happens if the Cylons spot you while I'm still using my seeing-eye dog and cane to stumble back to base? Huh?"

Starbuck looked back over his shoulder, smirking at that, pausing. Any second now, he would shoot back with some acidic barb, so Dayton spoke first:

"We'd lose our advantage," he continued. "We could take that landram. Just imagine having two of them when we storm that Cylon base. After all, the gunnery is toast on ours. Having some heavy-duty artillery is a must when we don't even know what we're up against. They wouldn't know what hit them."

"I thought you just flew decrepit space shuttles for a living. You sound like you actually know what you're talking about." Starbuck returned.

"Look, _Ubora,_ I was doing this sort of thing before you were even born!" Starbuck grunted, and rolled his eyes. "I'm not just another pretty face, kid." Dayton retorted, not bothering going into his experience and training. He'd seen some action, more than his share actually, and like most veterans, would rather not elaborate on what he'd seen, and done.

"Well, that's for damn sure." Starbuck replied, throwing a thousand volton smile back at Dayton. "All right. You go get Apollo and have the others break camp. I'll wait here, and keep an eye on things." He reached down and picked up the field magnifiers that Dayton had discarded while deciding whether or not to pummel the warrior.

"You'd better be here when we get back, kid." Dayton told him. "We have an understanding. Don't we?"

"Yeah." Starbuck nodded briefly.

"Why doesn't that fill me with confidence?"

"Because you have a few issues with trust, and would rather do everything yourself," Starbuck replied, turning his back on the other as he again lifted the field magnifiers to his eyes.

The kid had a point.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

With a coordinated attack on the second Cylon landram as their objective, Apollo had split them into teams of two or three, and for some reason, he'd paired Dayton with Starbuck. Oh, he'd have to ask Apollo later, but somehow Starbuck couldn't help but wonder if it was some lesser known Kobollian custom or Colonial regulation whereby you discovered a man and bailed him out of a lifetime of servitude, if you were then considered responsible for him from that point onward.

Apollo had gently probed Starbuck more than once about Dayton, since the Earthlings had joined their Fleet. The captain—an amazingly intuitive judge of character—had detected that there was something amiss between them that his friend hadn't been forthcoming about. Time and time again, Starbuck had chosen to keep it to himself that he suspected—scratch that, he damn well knew—that Dayton had been on the verge of allowing the Dynamos at the pirate base to explode, consuming the _Galactica_ in the ensuing blast, and leaving whatever had remained of the Fleet all but defenceless. In that moment he realized that Dayton's first allegiance was, and probably would always be, to his homeworld, but try as he might, he hadn't come up with a good enough reason to ethically incriminate Dayton for that. Especially since they all hoped to become citizens of Earth in the future.

_And what would you have done in his place, eh Bucko? Yeah. Right._

Still, knowing that Dayton was bent on the termination of everybody aboard the _Galactica_, and by extension of that, the rest of Fleet, could change a fellow's overall opinion of him, despite him being an affable sort. But since that moment, Dayton had proven himself more than once, even to risking his own life to save Starbuck from the murderous Sire Dracus, so he deserved the clean slate that a little subterfuge would guarantee him. Starbuck could only thank his lucky stars that John from the Ship of Lights had somehow found his way around the strange rules that bound his kind, whatever their kind was, and had talked some sense into the hard-headed Earthling.

Starbuck smiled slightly as Dayton raised a hand beside him, and motioned downward to halt their advance, both of them instinctively sinking into the ground cover. Even though Starbuck had told the other he'd take point, Dayton had somehow ended up out in front, leading them on the circular path, flanking the landram from the right. He wondered if the astronaut had a need to prove himself the equal of a man so much younger, was trying to make up for his missing the Cylon machine earlier, or was just the sort who liked to always take the big risks. Kind of like a certain other warrior of Starbuck's acquaintance. Regardless, so far, as they'd both suspected, they hadn't come across a single Cylon hidden amongst the tall grasses. Not even a sign of a sentinel or what Dayton had called a 'booby trap'. Frankly, what any of this had to do with women's underwear was beyond Starbuck, but it would make great table talk at the next round of Texax Hold'em. He glanced at his chrono, counting down the microns until he, Boomer and Apollo would storm the Cylon transport from three different directions. The others, held back for support, would cover their attack. Or at least that was the plan.

Dayton looked back at him, after taking one more reading with his scanner. He held eye contact for a moment, then nodded. A micron later, Starbuck was passing by him, keeping low to the ground as he moved steadily and cautiously towards the landram, his weapon in hand.

The ground was hillier here, and Starbuck's eyes raked the area, searching for any sign of the enemy. So far, the muted sound of his own breathing and the grass rustling in the light wind were his only company. Then he spotted Boomer opposite his position. The other held a fist up in the air, and Starbuck froze, crouching down slightly into the surrounding foliage as he first visually scanned the area, then looked back to Boomer.

Boomer slapped a hand across his wrist and pointed to the landram, indicating an enemy presence.

Lords, it had been yahrens since Starbuck had used hand signals in the field, and being able to swear fluently with gestures didn't count out here. Only once or twice had he needed to use them to communicate with a Viper pilot whose comm was down, and that had resembled a really hysterical game of charades, but they had still managed to get their point across. Fortunately, Apollo had the presence of mind to review the more official signals with everybody before they broke camp. Dayton and Baker caught on surprisingly quickly, and Luana, fairly fresh from training, went to the head of the class, and had even corrected the captain once.

Starbuck nodded towards Boomer, and they started forward together. The filthy landram was covered in fallen foliage from the huge Quercus close by, and the side hatch was missing. Upon closer study, so was the wind shield. Actually, the tracks were removed as well. The thing looked as though it hadn't gone anywhere in a long time, and had been used for spare parts along the way. Still, Boomer seeing a Cylon—or thinking he saw a Cylon within—had his heart thudding its way up into his throat as he readied himself for any eventuality. By now, Apollo should be visible to Boomer on the opposite side.

He flattened himself against the Cylon landram, took a steadying breath, then in one fluid leap jumped onto the forward track propulsion unit, risking a look inside, but leading with his laser. Sure enough, as Boomer had indicated, a Cylon sat within. It wasn't moving, and might have been deactivated, but still made one Hades of a sentry just lurking there looking intimidating. Its armour was covered in patches of rust, and its arms were missing. Starbuck nodded across at Boomer who headed towards the rear, satisfied the threat was minimal. He and Apollo were going in through the back hatch, Starbuck would cover them from his position. Sagan sakes, he could practically climb in and meet them there . . . but that might be misconstrued as brash.

The landram rocked slightly and Apollo and Boomer rushed aboard. The Cylon didn't move, but Apollo and Boomer still approached it cautiously, scouring the small area as they passed through.

"Why am I still waiting for something to go 'Boom'?" Boomer asked, looking around. The interior had been torn apart, anything usable probably salvaged.

"I know." Apollo replied, picking up a loose handful of optical cables from the floor and leaning over the centurion. Aside from the missing arms, the backplate had been opened, and the power cell had been removed. Other components seemed to be missing as well. "Where are they?"

"Maybe they're all out of landrams." Starbuck suggested, waving back at the approaching Dayton and giving him the 'all clear'. "We might have the only functioning one they had."

"So you're suggesting they're waiting for us to come to them?" Apollo asked, tossing the old wires back down.

"Well, isn't that our plan?" Starbuck replied.

"That's not how they think," Boomer shook his head sceptically. "If they detected Humans, they'd go out and hunt us down, just like they did when you and Luana first landed."

"Uh . . . we didn't exactly land." Starbuck replied, and two sets of eyes awaited an explanation. "I can't really remember exactly what happened."

"Try." Apollo told him. "It could be important. We saw the telemetry, but you never really said what happened to you two up there."

"Like I'd know." Starbuck returned, recalling the terror he had felt as he watched himself being dissected into miniscule pieces, and vaporized bit by bit. He jumped down to the ground—feeling a sudden need to escape this discussion and those fleeting, horrifying memories—effectively ending the discussion. For all of a couple microns anyhow, then Apollo came around the front of the landram as Dayton, Baker, Tone and Luana arrived.

"How about you, Luana?" Apollo asked. "Do you have any memory of what happened after the Dynamos' energy field surrounded your ship?"

She frowned, glancing at Starbuck. "I just remember suddenly not being able to move . . . then everything began to tingle. Kind of like when an arm or leg goes to sleep, yet different. It's difficult to describe . . . but I felt incredibly light . . . and cherished . . ."

Starbuck raised an eyebrow, looking at her incredulously. "You did?"

She nodded, her eyes opening wide as she studied his features. "You . . . didn't."

"Frack, no." He replied. It was right up there with the other most terrifying experiences in his life. The ones he kept buried deep inside and only permitted out when his defences were down and he was asleep. "It was like being eaten alive . . . consumed . . . but on some weird molecular level . . ." He shuddered involuntarily.

Luana closed her eyes, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "No . . .it was more like . . . like becoming weightless, and rising upward . . . then joining with all . . ."

"All what?" Dayton asked, when she didn't continue. There seemed to be an almost. . .holy aura about her for a fraction of a moment.

"I . . .I'm not sure." Luana replied, opening her eyes and shaking her head in bemusement. "I've never really felt that way before."

"I have." Apollo nodded slowly. "On the Ship of Lights." He looked at Starbuck.

Starbuck swallowed the considerable lump in his throat, as a result of the thought of Beings that were both mystical and inexplicable. "Yeah . . . but . . ." He shook his head, trying to reconcile his horror with anything that could possibly be related to those particular Beings. Then again . . .

"What?" Apollo asked.

"I was just remembering that my first face to face experience with the Ship of Lights didn't start off all that pleasant either."

"How do you mean?" Dayton asked, clearly perplexed.

"Well, they came up behind our shuttle like darting lights that we couldn't make out with the naked eye, or on our scanners. They passed us like we were standing still. And there was this terrible sound screaming in our ears . . ." He winced as he recalled trying to maintain a tenuous grip on his emotions while his best friend's corpse was stiffening up in the back of the shuttle. He and Sheba had been talking, then the next thing they knew they were under attack. All he could recall was some fleeting thoughts of the same advance scouts in the form of lights that they could never get a good look at, or pick up on their scanner because of their incredible speed. They had been persecuting the Fleet for days.

"How could you hear a sound if you were in a ship?" Baker asked.

"I'm . . . not . . . sure. It didn't really seem to come from anywhere specific . . ." Starbuck shrugged helplessly. Logically, any noise would have been sucked away by the vacuum of space, not directed towards their transport. Instead, this had been all around them, as if they were somehow bound up in the sound itself, increasing in frequency and intensity until Sheba had fainted, and then he had finally passed out. "Sorry, I was too busy having my brain sucked out through my ears to notice where exactly it came from."

"Then what?" Dayton pressed, moving closer.

"I woke up and I was . . . on their . . . ship, I guess." Then Starbuck shook his head, drawing in a breath as he thought about it. "Wait. No . . . they said it was . . . another dimension apart from our own."

"You're sure?" Apollo asked in surprise. His memories of that first visit were sketchy at best, and had only been returned to him on Terra.

"Yes." The lieutenant nodded. "Why?"

"The second time I was there, John told me they were on a ship." The captain held up a hand. "I was on a ship. But I was sure it was the same place . . . I even woke up on the same altar."

Starbuck grimaced at that. "Lords . . ." Waking up in the same place they had brought him back from the dead . . . it was gruesome. Despite the benevolence of these beings, the very idea made his skin crawl.

Apollo shook his head in repugnance. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Wait a minute, get back to the story, Starbuck." Dayton interrupted, concentrating on every word. "You woke up, and . . ."

"These . . . Beings were there."

"Like John?" Dayton asked.

"No." Starbuck's brow furrowed with concentration. While on Terra, he was so intent on finding Apollo and making sure his friend was all right, that it hadn't really struck him how much different in appearance John was to others of his kind. He only knew for certain that the Beings of Light had been responsible for dragging Apollo in to . . . whatever they had dragged Apollo into. It hadn't exactly filled him with warm, cheery feelings for them at that time. He certainly hadn't felt the same intimidation or fear when he beheld John, that he had when he'd been on the Ship of Lights. In fact, when he realized that John wasn't going to be any help to him, he told him to stand aside, or he'd walk right through him. Then his lips quirked as he recalled John's resulting look of outrage. He glanced at Apollo. "He was one of a kind."

Apollo nodded. "We met John later. He looked more Human, but told me the form was only a reflection of his intelligence. The Beings on the Ship of Lights were different. More. . . celestial."

"Angels?" Dayton asked expectantly. His body was tense, and all his attention was focused on the warriors.

"I asked them that," Starbuck replied, recalling that moment on the Ship of Lights when Sheba had told him she thought they were dead. Up until then, he'd thought they were merely in deep felgercarb. The thought had just about knocked him on his astrum, but by then he was already so overwhelmed with everything that had happened, he had simply asked if it was true. After all, if they were really dead, then it would only be courteous for someone to mention it about then.

"What did they say?" Dayton's brow creased.

"Something kind of . . . evasive. He said there was some truth in that."

"Noncommittal angels?" Baker inserted, with a wry smile. "Flying a ship? What _were_ you smoking?"

"Baker." Dayton admonished him.

Starbuck shook his head, clearly amused. "I know it sounds crazy."

"It's all true though." Apollo added.

"What are they then, if they're not angels?" Baker asked, glancing at Dayton.

"I'm not sure that they're not angels." Apollo shook his head. "At least the way that we think of them. They were certainly like no aliens we've ever met, anywhere."

"I . . . I don't quite get your drift. Are they angels, or aren't . . ." Dayton broke off, his head snapping around as he drew his weapon, crouching low. The others fell silent, drawing theirs as well, eyes darting in every direction.

"Mark?" Baker hissed.

"I tawt I taw a puddy-tat," said Dayton, pointing in the distance.

"Come again." Starbuck muttered, following his line of sight as he pressed himself against the landram. The Earthling had lapsed back into his native tongue. "You. . .what?"

"Quiet, _Café Verona.__"_

Everyone melted into the grasses or a rock, as they looked in that direction. A tiny glint, the recently risen sun reflecting off of something shiny, through a small grove of trees, then a faint sound. They had to strain to hear it, but slowly it increased in volume . . . and proximity. That horrid droning that the Cylons seemed to endlessly make.

"You did. You did taw a puddy-tat." Baker whispered, hitting the dirt.

xxxxxxxxxx

He was good man. A decent man. One who had always played scrupulously by the rules.

A man without options.

Doctor Cordis ground his molars together as he studied the entrance to the _Rising Star_'s Life Station. Within was a man that Sire Uri wanted condemned for no good reason, other than personal revenge. Through his long and distinguished career, Cordis had always prided himself on maintaining a totally professional and dispassionate air when he assessed the psychological status of any patient, irregardless of age, sex, creed, or socio-economic level. Never had it occurred to him that he would purposely incriminate a man, condemning him to a lifetime of psychological assessment and treatment on board a ship designated specifically for the treatment of the insane. He pulled out his handkerchief from his pristine robes, and blotted his brow.

"You're lost."

Cordis turned to see a woman with long, grey hair flowing over her shoulders. Something about her appearance was at once familiar, yet unsettling. "No . . . I . . . uh, know where I'm going." He indicated the Life Station ahead of him. "I'm on my way . . ."

She smiled slightly, shaking her head, one eyebrow cocked. "No, you do not."

Something in her tone made him hesitate. "But I . . ."

"Listen to me, Doctor Cordis." The woman stepped in front of him, taking his hand as though he was a child needing guidance.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, but the warmth and concern on her strong features dispelled his initial uncertainty.

"You are a widely respected man, Doctor, and in more usual circumstances I would place my absolute faith in your professionalism and compassion."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he shook his head in denial, despite her words bringing back his silent recriminations for what he was being forced to do by a despicable old bureautician, intent on destroying at least one man before the day was done. It only remained to be seen who that man would be. He closed his eyes briefly, once again desperately trying to find a way out. He was startled to find dark grey eyes staring back at him from within. His eyes flew open only to gaze into their depths once again. His breath caught in his throat, "How . . .?"

"Go back to your office and think about this once again, Doctor Cordis. Talk it over with your wife." She smiled when his face reflected utter horror at that very idea. "Why is it we automatically assume that those who know us best, and think of us most fondly, will believe unjust accusations and lies?"

Cordis was aware that his mouth was hanging open in a most undignified manner . . . at the moment that the woman placed her fingertips beneath his chin in an attempt to close his mouth.

"I . . . uh . . ."

She nodded briefly, "I know. You don't mean Dick-Dickins any harm. Some of life's most worthy sacrifices are for those that we don't know, or hold dear. Now that's a true testimony on behalf of Humanity. We must stand up for truth, and spit in the face of evil. Only then will we prevail on a personal level, and also as a Race. Think about that, Doctor."

"You . . ."

"Doctor, if your wife is half the woman I believe her to be, she will not only understand," said his visitor, "but she will want to stand with you, and show Uri up before the whole Fleet for the liar he is."

He nodded at her. How could everything that had seemed so hopeless, twisted and corrupt, now appear so clear? There was only one path. One route to take. "Thank you."

She smiled, and her gapped teeth took him by surprise for a moment, as he finally realized who she was. Then she squeezed his hand once more and added, "Send for Captain Dick-Dickins, and have him report to your office in the company of Doctors Ryan and Porter in two centars. Not a centon before. Do you understand?"

"I'm not sure . . ." he began, and the look in her eyes subtly changed. "Ah. . . but I will do as you ask. And I will give him a fair assessment, Councilwoman Ama." Cordis assured her, returning the pressure on her hand.

"I believe in your honesty and integrity, as does your family. Never doubt that," she replied, as she backed away from him and turned with a flourish, her robes and hair swishing with her movement. She glanced at him once again. "You shall have my support and powers, both bureaucratic and otherwise, Doctor."

And Cordis abruptly knew that with an ally such as her standing with him, he could overcome Sire Uri, and all the corruption he represented. He was suddenly a man with a clear purpose, set back on his proper path. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief. Thank the blessed Lords . . .

When he opened them a moment later, she was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I'm far too old for this . . ." Porter muttered, straightening his frame from the Life Station chair and stretching out the kinks, cramps, and cricks. Why hadn't they come up with something better than an uncomfortable chair at the bedside since 21st Century Earth? "Hell's bells, my joints creak just _thinking_ about . . ."

"You didn't _have_ to stay," Dickins murmured hoarsely from the biobed, rubbing a hand over his bristly, short hair. "I'm sure Conan the Colonial over there would have taken good care of me." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the guard.

"Yeah, right. I wasn't _about_ to leave you here alone with this Doctor on his way." This psychological assessment would decide the case for or against Dickins. "You know how much I trust shrinks. Hell, if he's anything like the guys back at NASA . . ."

"Where's Ryan?"

Porter shrugged, but his gaze wandered to the door for the thousandth time since Ryan had left. The steely stare of the hulking Security Officer looked back at him. The Earthman raised the third finger of his right hand to the man in silent salute, grinned with a level of satisfaction that can only be obtained through complete bafflement of the enemy, then crossed the room and firmly shut the door.

"Don't let it get to you, Jim."

"Don't let it get to me?" Porter looked back at Dickins in surprise. His friend was strangely composed. "I'm not the one going on the couch with Doctor Phil."

"I think it will all work out," Dickins nodded calmly, and uncharacteristically. "I'm sure of it."

"What are you? Nuts?" Porter retorted, immediately regretting his choice of words. "I . . . uh . . .oh, shit."

"Just a little bit," the astronaut smiled wryly. "I had the weirdest dream last night."

"A dream? Oh, great. The shrink will love that one."

"I saw Anna." Dickins blinked abruptly looking down and picking at his sheet before again glancing at his friend. "She was older. Just like me."

"How'd she look?" Porter asked, for lack of a better reply when one of your friends started dreaming about his long absent wife.

"Wonderful." Dickins smiled with a warmth and sincerity that Porter hadn't seen for almost thirty years. "I think maybe I'm going to see her soon."

"How exactly . . .?" Porter started to ask, afraid that the other was once again contemplating suicide, then the door swung open and a curly-headed Ryan squeezed into the room wearing Colonial styled clothing, and carrying a pouch. "Where the hell have you been?"

Ryan paused with his back up against the door, as if he could keep the world out. "Has the shrink been here yet?"

Dickins shook his head 'no', and pointed at the other, chuckling at his appearance. They were much more accustomed to the homeless Beach Bum look, than this. "Are you undercover?"

"Something like that." Ryan lurched forward, looking back and forth between his friends. "Look, this is going to sound absolutely bonkers, but you're going home, Dick. To Earth."

"I know." Dickins smiled.

"You do?" Ryan looked between them again.

"He dreamed about Anna last night." Porter replied. "Now where have you been, and what the heck are you talking about?"

"I went to see Lia. She's going to tell Dayton that we need to get down on that planet somehow. Make us part of the landing party." Ryan replied, as he held up his pouch. "Then I went to the Bodleian."

"What's the Bodleian?" Dickins asked.

"It the ship that holds the official archives. I had to sweet-talk the archivist, but luckily she has a weakness for men with curly hair." Ryan grinned, his eyes sparkling with devilry. "Then I hit the IFB. Zara was. . .pliable as well. Between the two of them, I've accumulated a decent history on the Colonials and Cylons, as well as some great footage of the _Endeavour_ and us arriving in the Fleet, and explaining how we got here. There's also some files on Colonial technology, and I stuffed in a languatron for good measure."

"Towards what end?" Porter shook his head in confusion.

"Convincing the dingbats back on Earth that our planet needs to be prepared for the arrival of the Cylons," Dickins inserted, seemingly from out of the blue. "It's not like they're expecting them to suddenly pop in for tea, you know."

"The Cylons?" Ryan and Porter parroted incredulously.

Dickins nodded slowly. "The Cylons will reach Earth before the _Galactica_."

"Now, wait just a cotton-picking-minute!" Ryan retorted. "Who told you_ that_?"

"John," Dickins replied simply. "Dayton's angel guy."

"Oh, for crying out loud . . ." Ryan screwed up his face almost painfully, and grabbed two handfuls of his curls, pulling on them viciously. "This is too much for one atheist to take. Especially an old one." His voice rose tremulously and he backed himself into a wall, banging his skull on it sharply. Twice. "You're saying that a. . ._supernatural Being_ came to you, and told you. . ."

"Easy, Paddy . . ." Porter gripped the other's hands and shoved him into the available chair, where his friend slumped over, cradling his face in his hands and muttering to himself. Jimmy turned back to Dickins. "I was here all night, Dick. I didn't see any angels." Ryan fell silent, as though awaiting his answer.

"Well, he was here . . . or at least . . . I was _there_ . . ." He blinked for a moment, looking around the room curiously. "I'm not sure which."

"Anna was with him?" Porter asked.

"No." Dickins shook his head. "I just dreamed about Anna. And it was strange because I stopped dreaming about her a long, long time ago, guys. Yet, whenever I did, she always looked like she did when we left. Young. This time she looked like she had matured." He swung his legs over the side of the biobed, and jumped down, weaving slightly on his feet before placing his hands on Ryan's shoulders. "John told me I was going back, Paddy. Who told you?"

Ryan sighed, uncovering his face and looking up at his friend. "Ama."

"Maybe Ama is a. . .well, a sort of _conduit_ for John's kind." Dickins suggested as he glanced at his friends.

"How's that?" Ryan muttered.

"Just a thought." He shrugged. "But it seems to me that she's able to communicate with them on a plain all her own if she's working with them to bring about the same outcome."

"Where the hell did _that _come from?" Ryan asked, his eyes widening.

"Well, either John suggested it and I don't remember, or I came up with it on my own," Dickins replied. "I don't claim to understand it, Paddy. Not any of it. But I think I believe it." He smiled slightly. "By the way, Canada is supposed to be the foremost superpower of Earth when I get back there."

Ryan opened his mouth twice before any sound came out, "Really?" he finally croaked.

Dickins grinned, leaning down and squeezing Ryan's shoulders, after sparing a glance at Porter. "Hell, no. I'm just messing with your mind."

"Who isn't?" Ryan muttered forlornly in return.

xxxxxxxxxx

Starbuck squinted into the distance for a moment, then rolled his eyes and reached into a nearby pack for the field magnifiers. Within a few microns he was atop the Cylon landram, flattening himself against the surface and adjusting the focus as he peered towards the tall grasses, alive with wildflowers, and interspersed among a small grove of trees in the distance. He cursed quietly.

Apollo was at his side in an instant, also prostrate on the transport, pulling out his scanner. "How many do you see?"

Starbuck shook his head. "We're not high enough to make them out. I can just see the sunlight reflecting off one . . . maybe two of them. They're still a good kilometron away. Maybe more." Slowly, he moved the magnifiers horizontally across the landscape, scanning for any sign of another Cylon search party. The wind had picked up, and the grasses now waved all around them, camouflaging a potential enemy presence moving towards them, but carrying their sound. He tried to damp down the image, but the magnifiers refused to cooperate. "I can't make out anymore, but that probably doesn't mean much. And I can't reduce the image glare. Something's wrong. Anything on the scanner?"

"The signal's not coming in clearly. It could be the Dynamos are transmitting again," the captain replied, looking around them. A half-smile lit his features. "Hey, I remember a certain cadet who used to be fairly agile climbing the old Quercus Tree in front of the Argus Building at the Academy. Usually because he was out past curfew and was trying to get in past the sentries."

Starbuck grinned at his friend, briefly reliving memories of a certain Colonel's daughter that made that risk so very worthwhile, and then some. Sagan, that had been a long time ago. He looked over at the gnarly tree, just off to the side. It had to be a hundred metrons tall, with huge branches stretching out across the sky. It was a giant, and would certainly afford him a better view of the approaching centurions. But it had been a long time since he had nimbly scaled up trees, and there had been a certain motivational factor involved in both breaking regulations and trying to get lucky. That was recreational. This was work. "You want me, to climb that?"

"Crossed my mind," Apollo replied, grabbing the field magnifiers from him and sweeping the area.

"Why don't you do it? From what I remember, you like climbing." Apollo had proven himself a talented climber when they had been on Alrin sectars ago, as well as Arcta.

"Because—as you keep pointing out—I'm the Captain," Apollo smiled. "Looks like we have a little time before they reach us. You were pretty good at climbing trees . . . at least, when you were _young."_ He sniffed.

"I'm still younger than you are." Starbuck retorted with a sidelong glance, seeing the answering triumphant smirk. As it turned out he was over two yahrens younger than Apollo, and at least a full yahren younger than most of the guys who had been in his class at the Academy. One of the advantages of moving through the social system as an orphan was his records had been completely destroyed at least twice from Cylon air strikes on unsuspecting outlying communities with inadequate defences. Complete data bases had been wiped out more than once amidst communication networks being destroyed, aside from the usual bureaucratic slothful ineptness as transferring 'low-priority' files. It was no wonder that families had trouble finding each other back then. When he had finally been moved to the better defended Caprica City as a young teen, he had embellished his age—although at that point it was merely an estimate anyway—in the hopes that he could get fast-tracked to the Caprican Academy, and out of the drudgery of the System sooner, rather than later. And deceiving a few overworked matrons and case workers was an easy task, if a guy had a bit of ingenuity and experience.

"Good point. Climb the tree," Apollo chuckled, sliding off the landram. He grabbed Starbuck's belt, and pulled the lieutenant down beside him, handing him the field glasses.

"That . . . didn't go well." Starbuck murmured, staying low and heading for the Quercus. He could hear Boomer's quiet laughter in the background as Luana fell in beside him.

"What's the plan?" She asked.

"I get to climb that tree and look for Cylons . . ." He paused as he felt her gaze on him. "What?"

"Now why would you get a city boy to climb a tree?" Luana asked, grinning at him mischievously as they slowed before the trunk of the titan.

"Hey, playing 'Simius of the Jungle' isn't exactly high on my list of . . ." Then he realized what she was getting at. She obviously thought that she would be better off climbing the tree. "Look Lu, I don't really think . . ." He glanced back at Apollo and Boomer who were looking at him in bemusement, since he wasn't exactly scampering up the tree as the captain had instructed.

"Think about it again." Luana suggested, her features mildly amused as she rested a hand on one hip.

"Problem?" Apollo called over.

Starbuck shook his head at the strike captain. "No. No problem."

"There are two possibilities as I see it, Starbuck." Luana took a step closer to him, ignoring the curious gazes around them. "Either you think that you can climb a tree better than I can, or you think that because I'm a woman I shouldn't be climbing trees." She raised her eyebrows at him, a smile lingering on her lips. "Which is it?"

His lips quirked slightly. The woman had a gift for cutting through the felgercarb. "Boys climb trees, Lu. Girls play with dolls."

"Really?" She drawled, her eyes flashing ever so slightly, but her demeanour still composed. "Well, doll . . ." Mischief lit her features as she looked around at the men, "This girl can climb a tree far better than any of you boys. And I think you know that."

Starbuck let out a breath, glancing over at the impatient captain, and then up at the hulking giant above them. Objectively, he didn't really want to climb the damn tree. His duct-taped boot would probably fall apart and he'd fall on his head. But he didn't want her climbing his tree either. Which in retrospect didn't make much sense, but certainly felt right. However, applying the Laws of Romance as written by Starbuck, he'd have to do a reverse thrust and evasive manoeuvre or he'd be sleeping alone for a secton. It's a frackin' tree, Bucko. Let it go. He shook his head slightly before taking her arm gently and murmuring, "Just don't swing down from a vine, take out the whole battalion, and show us all up. Huh? It's more than my ego can take." He placed the strap of the magnifiers over her head, bent down, and linked his fingers together to give her a leg up.

She grinned, and putting her hands on his shoulders and placing her boot in his grip. "You're getting much better at listening to reason." She leaned forward and kissed him.

Starbuck grinned back at her. "Yeah? Well don't tell them." He nodded towards the others. "It'll ruin my reputation."

"We'll keep it our little secret," Luana replied, a sparkle in her eyes. "One, two, three . . ."

He hoisted her upward, and shook his head in admiration as she swung herself over a branch and started moving upward gracefully and steadily. _More like a felix than a simian__._ She stretched out, reaching for another branch, and showing off her athletic form in all its glory. He tilted his head back, watching her progress, as she made her way to a burly limb that extended out towards the fields of Cylons beyond. He couldn't help but suck in a breath between his teeth as she pasted herself to the branch, wriggling her way along its length, clinging to it tightly. It almost made a guy wish he was a . . .

"Nimble little minx, isn't she?" Dayton murmured.

"Yeah . . ." Starbuck agreed, not really processing the words until he glanced at the other. "Say again."

"I said 'nimble little minx'."

"Uh . . .what's a _minx?_ Another Earth animal?"

"Yup. And don't worry, _Drip Grind. _She's doing fine."

"Sorry?" Starbuck murmured.

"You looked worried," Dayton replied, also watching Luana's progress.

"Did I?" Starbuck grinned, knowing it was the furthest thing from his mind. Luana had paused, and was clinging to the branch, her slender legs gripping it tightly as she scanned the area with the field glasses for a few centons. Then she pulled her scanner off her thigh and took a reading. He shook his head slightly as she began to shimmy back down towards them.

"Look, kid . . . I . . . uh . . . stepped out of line with what I said to you." Dayton continued to look upwards, crossing his arms over his chest.

Well, to say it took him by surprise would be an understatement. Dayton seemed to always act with unwavering certainty that whatever he had done or said, was acceptable at that moment. No matter what anyone else thought. "Which time?" Starbuck drawled.

Dayton blinked, slowly looking over at the other with a glower. "You don't make it easy on a guy, Lattecino."

Starbuck grinned. "Forget it, Dayton. I already have." He patted the older man on the shoulder as the other continued to search his features, as if looking for something more. Really, as apologies went it was a sad attempt, but anything more heartfelt from Dayton would have been even worse. "Really."

"Really?" The astronaut looked relieved.

"Yeah." Starbuck nodded, taking a step closer to the tree.

Luana was scrambling down, hands and feet moving agilely as she descended. She paused as her footholds disappeared, grinning down at Starbuck. "Gonna catch me?"

Before he had a chance to reply, she had jumped down, her hands landing on his shoulders with enough force to knock him off his feet. He tumbled to the ground with her on top of him.

"Sure . . ." he gasped, his hands on her hips as she straddled his. It might have been enjoyable if several sets of boots hadn't surrounded them by then . . . and there wasn't a Cylon patrol bearing down on them.

"Well?" Apollo asked.

"One patrol of six centurions, looking pretty dilapidated, but that's a visual. The scanner readings are distorted." Luana replied, placing a hand on Starbuck's chest as she pushed herself upward to report to the captain. She handed the scanner to Apollo. He perused it as she continued. "A couple of them are missing body plating, and another of them only has one arm."

"Sounds like they're scraping the bottom of the barrel," Dayton posed, reaching down to give the lieutenant an arm up. "I get the idea that this base isn't much of a Cylon stronghold. More like a holdout."

"It certainly looks that way," Apollo agreed, then glanced at Starbuck and Boomer. "We'll flank them."

"Should we try to take a prisoner?" Dayton asked.

"You want to interrogate a _Cylon_?" Starbuck asked sceptically. "That should be fun."

"Why?" Dayton glanced in turn at the amused Colonial Warriors.

"They're programmed _not _to reveal any information, should they fall into Human hands," Boomer explained. "It's part of their failsafe circuitry."

"Well, I had the idea that _these_ Cylons aren't exactly fresh off the assembly line," the Earthman inserted. "Definitely _not _this year's model." He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the rusting centurion in the landram. "Maybe we should try."

"What the frack, one of them is already unarmed," Starbuck chuckled at Boomer's resulting groan. "If it doesn't work, we shoot it."

Apollo shook his head slightly. "Well, I doubt it will work, but we could use the intelligence going up against their base. Maybe it's worth a try. Boomer?"

"Quite honestly, I don't have a lot of ideas, but I'm willing to try." The lieutenant replied.

"Okay, so who am I going with this time?" Luana asked, no one missing the reference that she had merely been part of the support force the previous time . . . and no shots had been fired.

"Me," Apollo replied, glancing at Starbuck briefly. "Luana and I will take the left rear, Starbuck and Boomer the right front. And for Sagan's sake people, don't shoot any of us in the crossfire." He grinned at the seasoned veterans who knew his warning was for the ensign.

"Let me guess, we're the backup again." Dayton added, nodding towards Baker and Tone.

"That's right." The captain agreed.

"Reminds me of picking teams in the schoolyard," said Dayton.

"Great. I came half way across the universe to be the class nerd again." Baker shook his head in mock dismay.

"Okay, folks," said Apollo. "Let's move out."

xxxxxxxxxx

Adama settled into his armchair in the privacy of his quarters, slowly reaching for his steaming hot cup of teanus. An intoxicating medley of crushed Camellia leaves, dried culmus stalks, with just a hint of aged Apiana flowers, the steam warmed his face and the soothing aroma enveloped his senses. For a long centon, his sat thus, quietly, at his desk, emptying his mind and breathing deeply, the outside world having no claims on him for a brief, precious moment. Then he took his first sip, opened his eyes again and once more began watching one of the discs that Commander Dayton and his people had salvaged from the pirate base. A 'dock-you-mentaree' rather than a 'mov-ee', it was entitled _Civilisation,_ and was filled with fascinating information on Earth's history and culture. The narrator, a tall, gaunt, middle-aged gentleman in bizarre clothes, reminded him of an old teacher of his from primary school days. He smiled, then was interrupted during another sip by a beep. He looked over at the list of messages on his computer, seeing several new ones that he needed to tend to. That was when the comm unit chimed and a micron later, Dr. Salik's likeness appeared.

_So much for teanus and learning!_

"Adama here."

"Commander, I need to give you the results of Commander Cain's tests," Salik reported, the usual no-nonsense look on his face.

"Please do, Doctor." Adama nodded, setting down his cup.

Adama could feel the blood draining from his face as he heard the report on Cain. Not only physically, but also mentally incapacitated from his injuries, the Juggernaut had been relieved of duty. Dr. Salik had laid out two very difficult choices for the legendary Commander's future.  
Either he could be given a medical discharge, which for Cain would be akin to a living death, or he could risk surgery with a purely experimental implant, which may or may not be effective in restoring his former cognitive status. In fact, it could make it a good deal worse, possibly leaving him a potential invalid.

Even kill him.

"Dear God . . ." Adama muttered, running a hand wearily over his face. "Has he made a decision?"

"He _was_ leaning towards 'yes', but I suggested Commander Cain take some time to think about it. I also need to contact Dr. Sobek and have him review the case. He's the only one qualified to perform the surgery, so he'll have the final word as to whether or not Cain is a good candidate for the procedure." His lips settled into a grim line.

"Thank you, Doctor." Salik nodded briefly, before the screen went blank. The medical officer was clearly disturbed by his own inability to ensure them a positive outcome. Something which quite obviously did not set well with him. Adama could sympathize.

More than anything, it was the fact that Adama hadn't realized just _how_ much Cain had been mentally affected that was surprising him now. Had he lost his objectivity so completely that he couldn't recognize it when an old friend and renowned colleague was showing signs of cognitive impairment? Yes, he'd noticed Cain was a little scattered with his ideas, but that could have been attributed to other, less drastic, explanations. The man had been obviously in need of medical attention, and had also been clearly exhausted by their late centar meeting, which had dragged on for longer than expected. Now, Adama realized how much it must have cost Cain to present his usual front while probably trying to cover his deficits.

_ Beep._

"Enter!" Adama called out in response to the entry chime.

The door slid open, and Cain himself stepped through, hesitating as he passed over the threshold. For an instant he looked unsure of himself as he glanced at Adama, then his chin tilted up ever so slightly and his jaw clenched. He nodded, his voice strong and clear. "Adama."

Adama stood up, motioning to the chair on the other side of his desk. "I just heard from Dr. Salik. I was surprised . . . to say the least."

"Yes, well, I felt a bit like I'd been broadsided by a Battlescruiser, myself." Cain nodded soberly. He took another awkward step inside the room, and the door slid shut. He paused in front of the chair, and leaned on his cane. Then, walked stiffly towards the viewport instead. The stars seemed to mesmerize him for a long moment of silence. "Frankly, I think that the Doctor's scanners need to be recalibrated."

"You want a second opinion?" Adama asked. It was a fair request. After all, the man had just lost command of his Battlestar.

Cain turned with a twisted smile, looking his old friend in the eye. "I already got one. Paye concurred. And as much as I'd like to ask my own medical officer, apparently he's absent without leave."

Adama crossed the space between them. "Cain, he's dead."

"I didn't approve that." The other remarked grimly, lifting his cane and tilting it in Adama's direction, before turning his gaze back to the stars.

Adama was seventy percent certain that the Juggernaut was joking, as for the other thirty percent, he didn't want to know. The insinuation was too disheartening. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"There's only one real choice.

"Then you'll go ahead with the surgery." It wasn't a question.

"Of course." His words sounded angry. Bitter.

"No one would think less of you if you opted _not_ to, Cain," Adama replied cautiously, knowing that the chances of a successful operation were low. Cain grunted in disbelief. "Dr. Salik explained the risks." Try as he might, he couldn't erase the fleeting mental image of Cain lying bedridden or in a hoverchair, physically and mentally incapacitated and unable to care for himself. Salik had painted that particular scenario a little too clearly, explaining he had recommended against having the surgery.

"Adama, I've lived my entire life taking risks, and I'm not going to change that now. I owe it to my crew, my daughter . . ." Then his voice thickened, and he cleared his throat. "And myself."

The _Galactica_ Commander squeezed his shoulder. "May the Lords of Kobol be with you, my friend. We need you, back in fighting trim, as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Adama. And may the Lords ensure that the surgeon's laser scalpel is steady." Cain replied with a wry smile, ever the pragmatist. "Now . . as to my ship. I think we have a bit of a situation, that I'd like to avoid if at all possible."

"Oh?" Adama asked, not liking the sound of that. "Go on."

"Well, I'm sure your son told you what happened the last time my command was taken from me. If it wasn't for an impending attack, my crew might very well have mutinied . . . against my implicit instructions that they accept your orders." Cain shifted, a wince crossing his features as he looked at the other. "Let me make this clear, Adama. I'm not threatening you . . . I'm only asking for some concessions for the finest bunch of Colonial Warriors that I've ever had the privilege of serving with. If Colonel Tigh is reassigned to my command right now . . . I don't even want to think about what would happen. These people have been under my sole jurisdiction—without any meddling from Colonial High Command—for over three yahrens." He didn't apologize for his choice of words, which communicated his own questionable respect for those in charge of him. Yes, ultimately Cain accepted orders, but not always gracefully. "Most of them resent any outside interference, as though we've become a separate entity from the usual military chain of command."

"You _haven't_, Cain."

"Oh, I'm aware of that, Adama." He smiled, his face twisting. "My hope is that your Dr. Salik can arrange this procedure ASAP, and before the day is out, you'll know whether or not you'll be looking for my replacement. Until then, I'm. . . _requesting _that you keep my medical discharge between you, Sheba, Salik, Paye and I, and let me leave my new Strike Captain in charge of the _Pegasus_. My people have enough to deal with rejoining the Fleet, rebuilding their Battlestar, and now waiting to find out if their Commander is going to end up as a drooling invalid."

Adama drew in a deep breath, considering the request. Surely he owed Cain that much. However, there was a part of him that couldn't help but wonder if he was being carefully manipulated somehow. . . by a man who was mentally incompetent to command a Battlestar. He let out that same breath slowly as he made a mental adjustment. "Let's find out first when your surgery will be, Cain. I understand that Dr. Sobek still needs to review the case."

"Paye told me that Sobek would do surgery on a two-hundred yahren old toothless, legless man with no kidneys if it meant he could finally test his pet project on a Human Being." Cain returned with a grunt.

Adama blinked in disbelief. "Did you ever consider that might be the reason that Dr. Salik is recommending you _don't_ have surgery?"

"I'll have to take that chance. I'd rather be _dead_ than lose command of my ship, Adama. Not like this."

"There are worse things than losing command of the _Pegasus_, Cain."

"I know that. Which is why I'm leaving explicit instructions with Salik that if I end up cognitively and physically disabled, that I don't want any heroics." Cain shuddered involuntarily. "I refuse to end up as an invalid. There's really only one fitting way for a warrior to die, Adama. And it isn't in some computerized chamber drooling all over yourself."

"Cain, that's an ethical dilemma. Dr. Salik might not be prepared to accept such a request. If by chance you ended up paralysed, that doesn't necessarily mean your life will end."

"I suppose that depends on how you look at it." The Juggernaut replied with a one-sided shrug. "Dead or invalid, either way my life's over, Adama."

"Then why take the risk?"

"Because I _have_ to. If there's any chance, no matter how remote, I have to have my ship, and if I'm the only one aboard. . ." He stopped, as if the thought had gone awry. Cain blinked, then looked out the port again, shaking his head.

"What about Sheba? She only just found you again."

"I won't involve Sheba in this decision, Adama. I won't have her taking any responsibility for a useless lump of flesh if anything goes wrong. I told her as much." His jaw was set stubbornly. "Besides, I'm doing this as much for _her_ as for me. I don't want my daughter watching me humiliated again."

Adama sighed. "I never meant to . . ."

"I deserved it." Cain shrugged. "My ego needed a swat, and you were right. But I wouldn't be the man I am today, if I didn't push and probe my senior officers' limits and boundaries. I don't regret it, and I'd do it again. Damn it, I _will_ do it again when this is all over."

Adama nodded slowly, as that famous bravado once again rose to the forefront.

"Enough of this. I have to go and get ready to have my brain chopped up. Speaking of which, when's the salvage mission beginning?" Cain asked with a slight smile, innately knowing that it would be a priority.

Adama glanced at his chrono. "Fifty centons."

"Right. We'll get her back in shape. And then computerized or not, those Cylons will learn the meaning of fear!"

xxxxxxxxxx

"I know that you're there."

Ama smiled gently, sensing the presence that had intermittently followed her throughout her life. If she turned around, she knew that she would see the golden aura of light that in her early yahrens she had theorized was the Goddess Triquetra herself, or one of her ethereal messengers. She had always welcomed the supernatural force, knowing it watched over her and her people, and had sensed only benevolence, goodness and slight curiosity directed towards her.

She turned slowly, opening her hands palms upwards and letting her own energies flow outward to greet the other's. As always, a shimmering golden light danced before her, not taking any form she was familiar with, yet its radiance and beauty was so magnificent that it didn't unsettle her as it might the average Human. Life was simply an energy force, and took many forms, all of them God's creations, and each of them exquisite to behold.

With a few possible exceptions that she tried to ignore for the moment.

"I can sense the danger surrounding my children. And I know I must have faith and courage, but I must admit that you aren't exactly forthcoming with what's about to happen. And while you're certainly pretty to look at, it would be much more useful if you would just come out and tell me what I'm supposed to do next to help them." She smiled ruefully as she felt an energy reach out tentatively to probe her own life force.

For a moment, she surrendered her control and let their energies unite. A meeting of spirits dancing gracefully beyond the celestial boundaries. She closed her eyes, feeling the other's presence. Probing, touching, exploring, peeking beyond her barriers to the naked truth beyond. Knowing her.

Then she gathered her powers and with a gentle insistence, she returned the frank assessment. As she expected, her existence was filled with their purity and love. She had waited a lifetime for these answers, and they were offering them to her freely, as they accepted her unspoken, yet devoted allegiance. She opened her eyes, blinking as she focussed again on the golden aura. "I see. Well, that does explain a lot."

xxxxxxxxxx

It took about five centons at a brisk pace for the two teams to flank the enemy. Starbuck crouched down amid the camouflaging grasses, thankful for the first time in his career for the colour choice of his uniform. Yeah, apparently Colonial High Command For Fashion had been planning ahead to this point in his career when he would be lurking within the dense confines of tall, beige grasses, waiting for the microns on his chrono to count down until he sprung into action as part of the coordinated attack on the saddest looking phalanx of Cylons that he had ever seen.

Sure enough, they were missing body armour that the average Cylon wouldn't be caught dead without. As Luana had mentioned, one of them was missing an arm. Another was missing its helmet, and it was really strange to see that red scanner light moving cyclically on an almost skull-like interior component. It was a Human parallel that he really didn't want to think about. It was so much more comforting to think of their enemies as strictly _mechanical _death machines.

Starbuck glanced over at Boomer, who was tensing for action as he studied his chrono. Boomer held up a hand, slowly. The friends exchanged glances, one intent, the other resigned. Starbuck took a deep breath, feeling his muscles relax slightly as the usual unexpected calmness enveloped him, then he lurched forward as Boomer moved.

Laser fire erupted from both positions, cutting the Cylons down en masse. Their resistance was a token effort at best, one trooper managing to get off two shots. One went wild, the second singed close to Boomer. Then the Cylons were all down, horizontal in the grass. Dayton, Baker and Tone emerged from the brush, joining the group as they stood over the six centurions, five of them smouldering from fatal laser shots. The sixth—the one-armed centurion—had had its other arm and one leg destroyed in the skirmish. Its weapon lay uselessly at its side on the ground.

"Surrender. You're a prisoner of the Colonial Nation." Apollo ordered as he approached the centurion, his laser trained on the enemy.

"Cylons-do-not-surrender," the centurion replied, smoke rising and sparks flying from its mutilated parts. One mechanical leg moved futilely, trying to propel the damaged Cylon upward. Its voice was rough and choppy.

Starbuck glanced at Dayton meaningfully. "That's why we usually just shoot them."

Boomer leaned down beside a nearby Cylon, looking over the decrepit form. "Look here." He indicated the exposed interior of its chest. Wires and linkages were in a tangle. He reached in and removed a small box about the size of his fist from which wires and tubes dangled, and held it up to the others. "What do you make of that?"

"I haven't seen anything quite like it," replied Apollo.

"What is it?" asked Baker, peering closely.

"I'm not sure," replied Boomer, shaking his head in bemusement. "But every Cylon has an EMA assembly in their chest cavity. An Electromechanical Actuator. It controls and augments all their physical movements. This one," he stood, holding the part for all to see, "looks different."

"Yeah. It does," agreed Apollo, recalling the interior of the centurions once lying in bits in Wilker's lab. The equivalent parts in those centurions looked different, their configuration visibly less bulky and more refined. And instead of the usual Cylon shine, the EMA's metal casing was rough and dull, and looked poorly machined. Of inferior quality. "But what does it mean?"

"It looks tribunal-rigged," said Boomer. "This centurion was not in top shape." He toed the still-smoking wreck. "Rust spots on the armour that were polished over, and still more rust over that. Pieces that look like they were replaced haphazardly. Plus the one with no arm. Since when do Cylons send centurions out with body parts missing?"

Dayton nodded. "So, obviously these guys aren't the A-Team." He grinned as Starbuck looked at him curiously. Damn, if the kid didn't look a bit like the Faceman! "The best."

"What are they then?" asked Lu.

"_Old_ is what they are, Luana," said Boomer. "But I don't get it. Old, decrepit Cylons? These guys should have been recycled for parts long ago. What gives?"

"I'll bet _he_ knows." Starbuck nodded towards the remaining functioning Cylon, buzzing and hissing noises coming from what was left of its body armour.

Dayton moved over to stand in front of it. "What are you doing on this planet, Centurion?"

"I-am-under-orders-to-remain-silent."

"Well, you've already disobeyed those, so how about telling us why you're here, and what that Command Centre at your base is for," Dayton added, waving his weapon in the direction that the patrol came from.

"I-am-under-orders-to-remain-silent."

"There you go again, disobeying orders." Dayton reminded him. "At least it's a beginning. Now, tell us; why is your garrison on this planet? And why . . ."

"Shh!" Luana hissed, her chin tilted upward.

"I-am-under-orders-to-remain-silent." repeated the damaged centurion, its leg still twitching.

"What?" Starbuck asked, moving to her side and gazing in that direction.

"Do you feel it? The vibration." She glanced at him, frowning as he shook his head. "I think it's an approaching landram. It's still a couple hundred metrons away, by the sound of it."

"I-am-under-orders-to-remain-silent."

"I think it's a recording loop," Baker murmured, frowning at the Cylon. "Do they have a 'stop' button?"

"Apollo, with another landram on the way, we aren't exactly going to have a lot of time to mess with its programming so we might as well . . ." Boomer motioned his weapon towards the centurion.

"Yeah." Apollo nodded.

"I-am-under-orders-to-remain-si-si-si-si-llllllllllllllent."

They all paused as they looked at the pitiful centurion.

"Uh . . . it kind of feels like an execution with it so . . . well . . .lame." Starbuck posed. He'd killed his share of Cylons, to be sure, but usually they were about to try and kill him, instead of lying helplessly in the middle of a field, surrounded by its dead, with a computer stuck on one vocal imprint that had been programmed in when it had been created.

"I-am-und-d-d-d . . ." With a loud sizzling and a pop, the Cylon's vocal grill spewed smoke, and it fell silent. The leg kept kicking spasmodically.

"I know, Bucko." Apollo replied monotone. Then he took a breath, and slowly raised his weapon, firing dead centre on the enemy's chestplate. With an unexpectedly loud explosion it dropped to the ground, several other internal explosions following the first.

"What the frack . . .!" Apollo breathed, choking with his efforts, his eyes opening wide and his hands flying to his throat. His weapon dropped from his fingertips as his knees buckled. He crumpled to the ground.

Smoke billowed out of the centurion's supine form, filling the air in a milli-centon, and surrounding the Humans like a dense cloud. Starbuck coughed, reaching for Luana as she crumpled to the ground. He barely caught her, breaking her fall, but then his knees abruptly gave out, and they tumbled to the ground together. Half-sitting, half-lying, he pulled her to him in some innate attempt to shield her against the unknown.

"Lu . . ." It was more of a wheeze than a word. Starbuck couldn't catch his breath, each desperate attempt making his chest feel as though a shuttle had just landed on it. Greyness penetrated his peripheral vision, as unbidden tears poured down his cheeks. Around him he was vaguely aware of the rest of the party collapsing. As he hit the ground, his cheek resting on the damp grass, he became aware of the growing vibration of the approaching landram.

Not again.

Then the beckoning darkness claimed him.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Cold. Damp. Musty. Hard. Silent . . . except for the occasional snore coming from nearby. Starbuck opened his eyes ever so slightly, the memories flooding back of some kind of explosive. . .no, a gas. Some sort of noxious Cylon gas, abruptly turning what had looked to be an easy victory into an apparent capture.

A slight groan passed his lips as his head thudded, feeling as though it was filled with mushies. Stale ones. With little mouldy spots all over them. The cold stone beneath his face was soothing. He licked dry lips, and grimaced with displeasure at the fetid taste in his mouth. An apparent side affect of the chemical warfare they had been subjected to.

"You okay?"

Starbuck rolled slowly onto his back, following the booming voice that lanced through his brain. He glanced over through the dim light to see a pale Apollo studying him through some kind of metal bars. The captain was sitting on the stone surface, his back against some bars, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his hands supporting his own obviously ailing head. Luana was lying beside him, apparently still unconscious, Apollo's flight jacket tucked under her head. At a glance, they were in some kind of a crude brig. It was reminiscent of the prison on Proteus and almost made him want to get up and try the door. Almost. "Yeah. Lu?"

Apollo smiled slightly. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Luana's fine too. Still unconscious, but she's smaller than the rest of us. It might affect her more. I checked her over. Her pulse and breathing seem normal." He glanced across the passageway to the opposite row of cells where Dayton and Boomer shared one, and Tone and Baker the other. All four men were out cold.

"Uh, did you try the door?"

Apollo looked at him quizzically, as though the idea hadn't occurred to him. He used his foot to push against the barrier. It didn't budge. He glanced back at Starbuck shrugging.

"Just an idea. What the frack was that stuff they gassed us with?" Starbuck asked, for a moment wondering why he had been singled out as the sole occupant of his cell. Then as the fog lifted and he counted left and right, he realized their 'hosts' only had four cells.

"I remember reading that the Cylons used chemical agents on our ground troops in the early days of the war, when a lot less battles took place in space. I don't recall ever hearing that they rigged their centurions with them though, using them as bait," Apollo replied. "The effect was so immediate that I think it was some sort of nerve agent. Apparently, many of the later developed concoctions lead to terribly painful, lingering deaths by those exposed to them."

"You must have been wondering if we were all going to wake up."

"It _did _enter my mind, especially considering how I feel." Apollo conceded, closing his eyes briefly, and swallowing visibly. "But I could tell you were still breathing."

"Well, then I guess we can count ourselves among the fortunate that they didn't use one of _those other agents_." Starbuck returned, his eyes on the gentle rise and fall of Lu's chest, and then the slight flickering of her eyelids. Across from him, he could see Boomer start to stir. "So . . . remind me if I'm wrong about this, because it's all a little hazy . . . but you came to rescue me. Right?" He slowly started to pull himself upright . . . or at least to a slouching position. He closed his eyes tightly as his pulsating brain tried to pop his eyeballs out.

Apollo sniffed. "How do you like it so far?" He watched Boomer shakily push himself into a sitting position. "Not exactly by the book. Hmm?"

"I don't know, I haven't finished the book yet," Starbuck retorted with a wan smile as he propped himself again the bars. For a moment he thought that he'd start retching, but the mere idea of the effect that would have on his aching skull made him will down the rising tide of nausea.

"Well this one has a few illustrations, so it shouldn't be that tough." Apollo smiled slightly at his friend,.

"Story time for Boxey must be a real blast," retorted Starbuck. He glanced across at Boomer who was running his hand back through his hair, resting it at the back of his head, no doubt in an attempt to keep his pulsating brain from blowing out the back of his skull. Starbuck knew exactly how he felt. "You look like mong, Boomer."

"Mong would be a significant improvement over how I feel," the lieutenant returned, crawling over to check out Dayton. The Earthman's eyelids fluttered and he mumbled something incomprehensive, probably falling back to his native tongue. "He's alive." He looked over to Tone and Baker, watching them silently for a moment. "So are they."

Starbuck nodded, glad to have Apollo's assessments confirmed by a closer observer. He was concerned how the toxic agent might affect the older men.

"How did you rate your own room?" Boomer muttered, looking over at them and running a hand over his face

"I cashed in my Space Miles." Starbuck quipped, glancing over at Dayton once again. "You gotta admit, it's not exactly a budget-buster."

"Personally, I don't much care for 'Early Catacomb'." Boomer returned.

"Uhh . . ." moaned Tone, beginning to stir. Next to him, Baker was also moving.

"I wonder if the Cylons are as curious about what we're doing here, as we are about them?" Boomer posed.

Then a heavy clanging echoed through the brig.

"I think we're about to find out." Apollo replied.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sheba entered the Life Station, glancing at her chrono. She was early.

In five centons she and Cain would be meeting with Doctors Salik and Sobek to find out if Cain was an appropriate candidate for the implant procedure. She briefly looked around, and met Cassiopeia's eyes watching her in concern from the med tech's station. The blonde woman smiled and walked gracefully around the desk to meet her.

"How are you holding up?" the med tech asked, reaching out and pulling Sheba gently to her for a warm embrace.

It was the warrior's undoing.

Sheba blinked back tears once again, holding tightly to the woman who she had been through so much with, both with and against the stream. The warrior had once carried a burning hatred for this woman for daring to take Bethany's place at Cain's side once her mother had died. How dare she, or any woman, presume to take her mother's place in her father's bed? How could her father. . . But, so much time had passed since then, both in and out of the heat of battle, and the two had become close friends. Sheba had been there for Cassiopeia to cry out her own anger and anguish, when the med tech had finally ended her relationship with the philandering Starbuck. Sheba had been mad enough at Starbuck at the time to shoot him down, should his tail vapours ever pass in front of her sights. Now, against all odds, Starbuck was engaged to an Empyrean Princess that Sheba liked and mostly admired. Well, other than the fact that the besotted young woman had set her scanners on Cassie's man, and had ultimately won his heart. Cassie had since then become romantically involved with the Earthman, Dayton. Now Sheba's father was the odd man out. Her father . . .

"I just can't believe it, Cassie. Any of it. After all this time I finally find my father, only to discover he's been injured and he's . . ." It was still hard to think about, never mind to voice aloud, "Not in his right mind." Sheba pulled back from Cassiopeia's embrace and stared into her compassionate blue eyes. "He wants to go ahead with the surgery. He says he can't go on the way he is now. Especially since Dr. Salik relieved him of his command. Tell me what you think about the procedure. Honestly. Is it safe?"

Cassie tried to keep her face impassive, but the worry behind her eyes conveyed her true feelings. "Sheba, Dr. Salik already told you the risks. That hasn't changed." She sighed. "I read the data, both on the implant, and the surgery itself. I don't have Doctor Salik's depth of knowledge, but the risk is indeed great. If it was _my_ father . . ." She stopped and glanced over at Salik's office where the voices inside had risen to an audible level from the other room.

"You can't do this surgery on Cain. For Sagan's sake, you never perfected it on the simians!"

"It was designed for a Human, not a simian. I've been perfecting the sequencer/stimulator since the Destruction. It's ready, Salik. I _know_ it will work."

"You know _nothing_ of the sort. You can only _theorize_ that it will work, based on incomplete research! This is a man's life we're talking about, Sobek, not some creature with a brain half the size of ours. And not only any man, but the legendary Commander Cain. Lords of Kobol, Doctor, what if something goes wrong? The consequences, for Fleet morale . . ." A loud thump sounded from a fist hitting a hard surface. "Do you want _that_ on your conscience?"

"You've told him the risks, Salik. I think the chances are fair to middling that he will regain his cognitive status, and some additional motor function as well. The chances. . ."

"Fair to middling?" Salik roared from within the office.

"Keep your voice down . . ."

"Oh, dear God," Sheba breathed, suddenly feeling weak in the knees. With a strength belying her size, Cassie firmly guided her into a nearby chair, kneeling down beside her and pushing her head down towards her knees.

"Breathe," Cassie told her.

"I'm going to lose him again. One way or the other, I'm going to lose him again." Sheba murmured, feeling hot tears of pain coursing down her face. She covered her face with her hands, her chest aching with the intensity of loss that was already permeating her existence. She could feel tiny raised beads of flesh all over her body, and she started shivering in response. "I promised Mother. . .when she died, I promised her I'd look out for him! And now. . .I can't! There's nothing I can do for him! Oh, Lords, I wish Apollo was here." Having his strong arms around her would give her that little bit of extra strength that she needed to get through this.

"He would be if he knew," Cassie soothed her, stroking Sheba's long, brown hair back from her face.

"I don't even know if he's okay . . . He doesn't know about the _Pegasus_ . . . or my father. . . or my promotion." Sheba sniffed, grateful as Cassie pressed a tissue into her hand. "How did my life become complete felgercarb in a day?"

"Shh."

Strong male arms replaced Cassie's, enveloping her, and pulling her into an embrace. Without opening her eyes, she knew those hands. Knew it was her father. Even in his compromised state, he was still offering her comfort. He stroked her hair lovingly, making her heart ache even more, and the rising tide of emotion choked her until she was sobbing in his arms.

"It's going to be alright, baby," Cain whispered.

Sheba sniffed loudly, blinking rapidly, and pulling back reluctantly to look into his eyes. His haggard but loving features studied her intently as he sat on a chair facing her, his walking stick at his side. "Please don't do this, Father. Don't take this chance. I don't want to lose you . . . I don't think I could survive that again."

"You're not going to lose me, Sheba. I _always_ come back. You should know that." Cain assured her, brushing her hair back from her face with his fingers. "Now, that's no way for a strike captain to act." He smiled to remove any possible sting from his words.

"Maybe you picked the wrong strike captain," she replied, wiping at her tears, and attempting a brave smile.

"I don't make those kinds of mistakes," Cain replied, his voice not wavering. "Sheba, I know it might seem selfish to you, but I have to take this chance. I can't live knowing I'm less of a man than I could be. I'm not ready to retire to the Seniors' Ship, playing cards, making crafts, and chasing old women in my hoverchair."

"You're exaggerating," she replied.

"Only about the crafts," he ventured a slight smile. "It's all the same to me if I'm not commanding my ship," Cain told her. "Since Molecay, my entire focus, my base existence has been as the commander of the _Pegasus_. Everything else I've put on the backburner, even my relationship with my daughter."

"That's not true," she denied gently.

"Yes, it is. I've treated you as a Colonial Warrior first, and my own blood second. Because I was determined to let you earn your own way in your career. You weren't going to ride on my laurels, and you haven't. I'm damned proud of that, Captain." Then his features softened. "My dearest daughter, Sheba."

She could feel her face contorting once again, as tears welled up in her eyes. This time she forced them down, gaining control of her tremulous emotions. "I just overheard Dr. Salik arguing with Dr. Sobek. Salik doesn't think they should do the surgery. Even Sobek said your chances are 'fair to middling'." She gripped Cain's hands tightly, pausing as she briefly looked down at the gnarled, twisted right hand that was all but useless to him now. "Please, Father . . ." she begged him. "Even if you lost the _Pegasus_, you'd still have me."

"I'm sorry, Sheba. I have to." Cain returned.

And she knew then that just like when her mother had died, having his daughter simply wasn't enough.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Okay, take us in," said Wilker, as they approached the slowly tumbling derelict.

Captain Dorado silently rolled his eyes, and then lined the shuttle up with the wreck of the Base Ship, gently accelerating towards the open landing bay. To the right of the bay, the ugly wound in the ship's side yawned, a dark chasm that seemed to beckon like an open grave. Beside him, his wingman and friend, Lieutenant Rooke shuddered momentarily. For both of them it was reminiscent of the caverns on the asteroid base, where they had harvested _koivee_ root after being captured by pirates while on a long-range patrol for the _Pegasus_. With a thump they were down, the shuttle's illuminators lighting up the bay.

"Everyone, get suited up," called out Bojay. Sheba had somehow finessed him onto this mission, wanting to be there herself, but unable to pull herself away from Cain's side.

"There's no atmosphere inside, and according to the scanners, no gravity either." Dorado reported, calling back over his shoulder to the others.

"Sounds fun," replied Ensign Cree, opening the suit locker, and pulling his out. He handed out the rest of them before beginning to suit up.

"No active energy signatures inside," said Wilker, his nose to the scanners. "At least nothing we can detect. We'll have to magnetize the gear."

"We know that, Doctor," said Dorado, exchanging a look of amusement with Bojay.

"Weird, not having a lighted bay to land in," said Bojay, helping Brie with her suit.

"Kind of creepy," she added, nodding her thanks.

"Better than a mongload of Cylons ready to blast us to bits," replied Rooke, opening the weapons locker, and handing out lasers to each member of the team. "The deader the better, as far as I'm concerned."

"Amen," said Cree with a frown. "I for one am not keen to repeat my up close and personal encounter with Cylons. And their brain-sucking machine."

"Then maybe you should consider rethinking your line of work," Rooke razzed him.

"It's occurred to me a time or two," Cree smiled. "But I suppose it's the glamour and the glory that keeps me coming back."

"Sounds like you've been studying with Starbuck," Dorado chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. "Watch it, kid. The next thing you'll know, you'll be volunteering to board Base Ships . . ."

"I think it was you who volunteered me. Ah, sir." Cree reminded his captain and squadron leader.

"It was that eagerness in your eyes, as you backed towards the turbo flush during the mission briefing, Cree," Dorado replied jovially. "I knew I had my man."

"I just thought it was just the mystery meat in the mess," grinned Brie. Cree bared teeth at her, but said nothing.

"Lords, what a mess," said Bojay, peering through the ports at the Cylon bay. They finished suiting up, rechecked their gear, and after depressurising, opened the hatch to descend to what lay in darkness.

The landing bay looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Cables hung from above, fighters and parts thereof were tossed about like garbage, and centurions were scattered about, many of them smashed, charred, or both. One Cylon lay crushed under one of the shuttles' landing gear.

"Sagan, what hit this place?" mused Rooke, shining his illuminator about. "Looks like they were slammed by something big."

"We checked the hull number from Lieutenant Sheba's intial scans," said Wilker, examining a bank of open circuits. "There is no record of any encounter with this particular Base Ship whatsoever."

"Captain Sheba." Bojay inserted nonchalantly.

"Oh, yes. My mistake."

"Most Colonial Warriors have never even seen an _Abaddon-_class Base Ship," offered Bojay, "except in scans at the Academy. According to the Intel files, the last _one_ was withdrawn from service ninety-one yahrens ago, after the Cylon defeat at the battle of Olinick One."

"Which is barely four and a half light-yahrens from Hassari Prime," added Dorado. "So what the Hades Hole is one doing this far from Cylon space? No way it could have just drifted this far, in that time."

"And what wrecked it?" said Rooke, rhetorically. "Battle?"

"I didn't notice any signs of battle damage on the hull as we approached," mentioned Brie tentatively. "Just micrometeorite impacts. And it doesn't look like they had much of a chance to launch fighters. There must be an entire squadron in this bay. If it _was_ an enemy . . ."

"Then it happened before they could even begin to get their defences up," finished Cree. "And Cylons aren't exactly slow off the mark. That doesn't bode well."

"Well, we can theorize all we like, but we won't know anything till we delve deeper," said Dorado. Like Wilker, he was examining banks of exposed machinery, all of it dark. "Doc?"

"Near as I can tell," said the scientist, scanning, "some of this equipment isn't so much damaged, as just powered down. We need to get to the Control Centre. I _might _be able to access internal sensors or possibly the log."

"Which is where?" asked Rooke.

"According to the report Captain Apollo entered on the Cylon Base Ship he boarded with Starbuck," replied Wilker, "it's at the very bottom of the Central Core. From there, we should be able to access the ship's main computer. Thankfully, the Cylons are habitual in their ship designs and are almost obsessive record keepers."

"Providing they haven't been destroyed too," said Cree.

"Of course."

"All right, then," said Dorado. He rechecked his weapon, and hefted his scanner. "Let's see if we can find the hatch under all this felgercarb."

"This way, sir," said Brie, pointing towards the hatch to the Central Core. "It's through that hatchway there."

"How do you know?" he asked, after they had moved closer.

"I read Captain Apollo's report, sir."

"I see. Okay, let's get her open."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was an old IL Series Cylon, but with a few twists. The head that usually lit up and sparkled like an old-fashioned light source seemed dimmer, as though it was only . . . half lit. Not only that, but the ostentatious, high-collared cloak that Starbuck had seen both Lucifer and the commander of the Attila Garrison wear, as well as the few ILs they had glimpsed on Gamoray, was conspicuously absent, revealing a strangely Humanoid form. It was almost weird to see actual arms attached to the figure as it perambulated towards them. Stranger still were its fairly normal-looking legs that were usually hidden beneath the ostentatious costume. Following behind, were two centurions in slightly better shape than the others they had seen. The IL paused in front of Starbuck's cell for a moment, looking him over curiously.

"Dressing down for the company, chum?" It just slipped out. Enemies flashing their lights at him often had that effect.

"Starbuck." Apollo's voice was low and warning.

"Dressing down?" The IL asked, leaning towards Starbuck. "Explain, Lieutenant."

"Usually your sort are wearing some kind of . . ." he waved a hand in the air, "really flashy, garish robe."

The IL's lights seemed to slow down for a moment as it considered that. "My sort?"

"The IL Series." Starbuck replied. "That's what you are, isn't it? Designated IL Series?"

"You've seen IL's wearing . . . Human style clothing?" The doubt in its voice was clear.

"Yeah. You don't?"

"Why would I, the most advanced cybernetic sentience of my time, wear _Human_ clothing?"

"Because it makes you look really magnetic on the cover of Cyborg Chic?"

"Starbuck, stow it!" Apollo's voice was clipped this time. "I'm in command here!"

The lieutenant glanced over at him briefly, knowing that one of them was going to be interrogated, and he sure as Hades didn't want the Cylons zeroing in on Luana as the smallest and weakest member of their party. They were infamous for that kind of tactic. After all, if Apollo drew attention to himself, then the Cylons were bound to notice Lu. He grinned mockingly at the IL. "Hey, pal, maybe nobody's pointed it out to you before, but obviously you want what we've got." He looked down at his own uniform, running a hand down his front, then glanced back up at the IL. "I'm pretty sure it won't fit you. And getting feet the size of the Imperious Leader's head through the pant legs could be a problem. Still, your type seem handy with a needle and thread."

The IL turned back to the centurions. "Bring this one."

"Wait a centon . . ." Boomer spoke up. Dayton was rolling over, his eyes opened wide in disbelief.

"I'm Captain Apollo, and this lieutenant's commanding officer!" Apollo inserted, managing to get to his knees, then swaying dizzily. He ended up collapsing onto all fours as the centurion inserted an entry key card into Starbuck's cell door. It clicked loudly and the locking mechanism released. "If you're taking anyone, it will be me!"

That door swinging open towards him was almost enough to make Starbuck regret opening his big mouth. Then he noticed Luana's eyelids flutter again, and her dazed brown eyes open ever so slightly. Abruptly, the two centurions were in his cell, grabbing him under the arms and jerking him to his feet. His knees gave out as his head exploded with the pain of the sudden position change. Lords, he was going to toss his mushies . . . He groaned, as they roughly pulled him across the cell, the tips of his boots scuffing the stone floor.

"You may be the lieutenant's commanding officer, Captain Apollo, but you are not mine." The IL returned. "We will take your subordinate and try out some of our more refined techniques for extracting information." He paused for effect as the Cylons dragged Starbuck from his cell. "If he doesn't survive the data retrieval, then I give you my word that I _will_ return for you next. Of course, I will give you some time to think about just offering me the information I seek, without further. . .discomfort. It can be so tedious, really." With that, he turned and left, his centurions dragging Starbuck along behind them.

"Frack!" Apollo cursed, banging a fist ineffectively on the cell door. It hurt, and he swore again, flexing his hand. He looked across at Boomer who was also hanging onto his bars, his fists clenched, knuckles white.

"He was protecting Luana," Boomer muttered, looking across at the young woman who was just beginning to rouse.

"I know . . . it's just . . ." Apollo rested his head against the bars, closing his eyes. "That's my job."

"This is so bizarre," said Dayton, attempting to sit up, but hastily correcting the ridiculous notion. He wiped a shaky hand across his pale face, covering his mouth for a moment before continuing. "First you have Cylons that sound like an Atari computer game. Now there's one that sounds like he's speaking with some upper crust accent. Man, am I still hung over from some _koivee_ hooch that I don't remember drinking?" he asked Baker.

"If only," said the other astronaut, who was still flat on his back. "If only."

"He always does this. Every time." Apollo muttered, turning to check on Luana. Confused brown eyes looked up at him. Her mouth opened, then she winced as if she regretted even that slight movement.

"Does what?" asked Dayton.

"Puts himself in the line of fire. Baits the enemy. With Ortega. On Proteus. Again with Fausto and Dracus. He's getting worse, not better! Like it's just one more game to him."

"Hey, look, Captain. Our dear _Vanilla Bean Cream _did the smart thing."

"Getting himself dragged off to be tortured was smart?" retorted Apollo.

"Yeah." The astronaut slowly moved to a sitting position. "Think about it. From what I gather, these walking, talking garberators would normally go for the senior officer. By shooting his mouth off, Starbuck got that oversized Christmas light to break protocol, and take him. Not you."

"Modify their behaviour," elucidated Baker quietly, still supine.

"Yes, indeed. By doing so he not only shows all of us how much he cares for Luana—for those of us who had some doubts—but he has extended her a little more protection. He's also left you here, Captain, as senior officer, to continue working on some plan of escape. Something you could hardly do if you're getting you toes run through a pencil sharpener, or whatever."

Apollo grunted, conflicting feelings flickering across his features. Anger. Guilt. Nausea . . .

"And," continued Dayton, "he's also shown that he has the guts to be able to sacrifice himself for his unit." Dayton shook his head. "Every time I think I have that kid figured out. . ."

"If you ignore about half the stuff that comes out of his mouth, and just pay attention to what he does . . . then you have the real Starbuck." Boomer confirmed soberly, meeting Apollo's and then Luana's gaze.

"Okay, so if you're right, Dayton" said Luana, slowly and painfully pulling herself to a seated position, "what do we do now?"

"We come up with a plan," said Dayton. "Those Prancing Percolators use Security Code Cards to open our cells. Fifty will get you a hundred the cards are also keyed for every other door in this base. We need to get one."

"How?" asked Boomer, glancing down the corridor at the metal door that they had hauled Starbuck through.

"Well," Baker looked at Dayton, "maybe, one of us . . ."

"Could die," finished Dayton, with a deranged grin.

"I was going to suggest we use the one they left in Starbuck's cell door." Baker replied, pointing that way.

"Oh, sure. Do it the easy way." Dayton shrugged indifferently, with a faint smile as he saw the card key firmly inserted in place. He shook his head in self-derision. Now they had to figure out how to get it . . .

Abruptly, a loud clank echoed through the chamber, and the door swung open again. A centurion moved jerkily down the corridor, stopped in front of the open cell door, and retrieved the card key. He glanced at the prisoners for a moment, then turned and left.

"Plan 'B'?" Dayton looked at the others.

"I think maybe you should run it by me, before we call it that," replied Apollo reasonably.

xxxxxxxxxx

There were a few pages written on 'allegiance' in the _Colonial Warrior Book of Regulations and Behavioural Protocols_, and while Lia had studiously poured over them as a cadet, it had never entered her mind that less than a yahren after graduation she would be doubting just who her true allegiance belonged to. No, she hadn't missed the insinuation when Ryan had come to her to pass a message on to Dayton. Despite the fact that the Earthman had a romantic affiliation with Lieutenant Dietra—also of Blue Squadron and certain to be part of the mission to rescue Starbuck and Luana—he hadn't requested his lady love withhold information from Captain Apollo, probably because he knew she wouldn't.

Instead, he had brought up _Ama's_ name, knowing that Lia was raised to listen to her godmother, valuing and respecting the Necromancer's opinion and judgment. And while a small part of her had already admitted to herself that she would be their accomplice, she was still filled with guilt, and self-recriminations had haunted her from the moment that Ryan had left her table in the OC.

Lia kicked the landing gear on her Viper. She sighed, realizing she'd been staring at it for several centons now, as she examined her options . . . or lack thereof. Not surprisingly, her landing gear had no advice to offer her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jolly touched her lightly on the shoulder.

She paused, realizing that this wasn't the best way to begin a tentative relationship with this man. Or _any_ man, come to that. "I wish I could, Jolly."

"Well, I have to assume it has something to do with that Ryan fellow," Jolly returned, walking around her and ducking his head until his gentle, blue eyes were searching her features. "You've been awfully quiet since he left."

"Did you ever wonder . . . if you really were _meant_ to be a Colonial Warrior?" She hesitated as his brows lifted ever so slightly, but he waited for her to continue. "I mean, sometimes it seems that personal choices are so. . ._so _diametrically opposed to what duty dictates. How do you deal with that?"

"Sagan's sake, girl, you don't start with the easy questions, do you?" Jolly mused, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "Can you be more specific?"

"No."

"I see." He shook his head. "You mean like 'what the Hades Hole did I think I was doing joining up? By all the Lords, I'm no good at this?' That sort of thing?"

"Something like that," she replied quickly, nodding and meeting his gaze. "Oh, I know I learned it all as best I could, but. . ."

"But self-doubt is always there, nibbling away at you. At your self-confidence."

"That's for sure, Jolly," she returned. "Yes. I do feel that. It's as though. . ."

"Hey, let me tell you something, Lia. Hopefully, it will help." He leaned back against her Viper, fingers interlocked in front of him. "When I was a greenhorn—I mean the seat was barely warm under me—I felt the same way. Even after completing flight school, and being assigned to a squadron, I still felt like I was the biggest faker out there. I felt as if I was the most unsuited person to be even looking at a cockpit, let alone be in one. Somehow, my instructors had passed me just because I was a nice guy. Or because they needed more pilots out there now. It had nothing to do with skill. I was sure that the right thing to do was to just come clean, and admit I wasn't supposed to be there. But I just looked so damn good in the uniform . . ." He smiled ruefully and patted his stomach. "Of course, I was a little lighter back then."

She grinned at his ability to poke a little fun at himself to lighten the situation. "How did. . .?"

"I was assigned to the _Black Blade_Squadron, aboard the Battlestar _Triton__._ My first couple of patrols, zip. Nothing. Not a Cylon in sight. Which was probably a good thing, because every quiet patrol at least meant that I would come back alive. You see, I'd never shot anything. Had never even fired on a Cylon Raider, except in simulations. And every day that passed made me more and more afraid about what would happen when I finally engaged the enemy. My self-doubt was killing me as a warrior, and I was considering resigning when my tour was up."

"What did you do?"

"We were jumped, out near the P'reme System, by two Base Ships that had used the asteroid field to dodge our scanners. We launched, and it was looking for a while like we were in for it. Then, suddenly, there was a Raider right in front of me. You couldn't have lined up a better shot. I hit the button, and zing, I got him."

"I'm not sure I understand . . ."

"I saved the life of a fellow warrior, Lia. My strike captain, actually. That Raider was right on his six. In a flash, I realized that I wasn't useless. However unintentionally, I had saved my Skipper. My whole understanding of myself and my value turned around right then."

"So you're saying, that I . . ."

"Have not yet come to that defining moment, Lia. But don't let it eat at you. You, like every warrior, will eventually reach it."

She sighed, arms crossed. Her situation was a little different. It was really more of an ethical dilemma than a lack of confidence . . . then again, most ethical dilemmas stemmed from personal beliefs conflicting with external expectations. Or some variation on that.

Jolly sniffed, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out. "Lia, you're a good person. I know it sounds kind of cliché, but in your case, I'd truly let your conscience be your guide. And this mission. . .it may just be your moment of truth."

She nodded. She'd already let her conscience rule, but Jolly emphasizing that point somehow made it a little easier to reconcile. When they rescued Starbuck, she'd have to sit him down and discuss this with him. Probably with his hands wrapped around a fine ambrosa to loosen his tongue. If there was a shining example of a warrior doing things his own way—and often paying the consequences for it—Starbuck would be it. "What's the word on the mission?"

Jolly looked a little relieved to be getting back to business, but still squeezed her hand gently before replying, "You and I launch first. If we clear the Dynamos, we stand by while the rest of Blue Squadron follows us in. Commander Adama wants a focussed attack on the coordinates where he suspects the Dynamos' planetary Control Centre is. He's sure that the Control Centre is also the Cylon Base."

"What about Captain Apollo's landing party?" Lia asked.

"After we secure the base, we'll track them down. If we get any distress signals before that, we'll respond as best we can, but the low level wavelons that have started coming from the planet again will probably interfere with the communications."

"Our people couldn't have made it too far from the _Endeavour_." Lia replied, grabbing her helmet from the nose of her ship. "After all, she wasn't exactly equipped with a landram."

"Right."

"Jolly?" she asked. She didn't like the forced levity in his voice.

"Assuming they haven't been captured . . .or worse." His lips settled into a thin line of regret for having to raise the possibility.

"They're alive, Jolly." Lia assured him.

"You sound certain."

"I am." Lia replied. From the moment that she was told she'd be included on the mission, she knew that it would be a rescue, not a recovery. When she had taken the time to close her eyes and picture her sister, it had been in a sweeping field of tall grasses. Surrounded by an artist's palette of blooming wildflowers, Lu was embracing Starbuck. When Lia had really focused, she could sense the others—Apollo, Boomer, Dayton, Baker, and even to a lesser extent the med tech—in the background, all well. Such visions didn't come often to her, but she trusted them implicitly when they did. Like a message from the Goddess Triquetra herself. She only had to listen. It made her wonder if the Goddess was guiding her conscience as well. "I am."

xxxxxxxxxx

Ryan's thumbs were getting sore from twiddling them. He sighed, abruptly shutting his mouth as Dickins and Porter both glared at him. Apparently, there was a morOtorium on sighs, and he was only just finding out about it now.

"Okay, so how do we give the Incredible Hulk out there the slip?" asked Porter. "I know he's probably only the second generation of his family to walk upright, but I don't think he's going to give us an Auric Pass to the loading dock."

"Well, while she didn't exactly give any details, I had the impression that Ama has something up her sleeve," said Ryan, waving his hand as though casting a spell.

"Careful," said Dickins. "She may be armed." They just scowled at him.

"Oh great. Puns!" said Ryan. "We. . ."

"And if you're wrong about that?" Dickins asked.

"Paddy-cake."

They all looked up as the door to Dickins' isolation room swung open without warning. The Security Officer stood framed in the doorway akimbo. He looked as if he'd get stuck if he took a deep breath. His face was dour as he considered them for a micron.

"Dr. Cordis wants you brought to his office, Captain Dickins," the Blackshirt informed him.

Ryan jumped to his feet. "We're going with him."

"Suit yourself." He motioned for them to precede him through the Life Station.

"I didn't know the Hulk could talk," said Porter, as they reached the door.

"Advanced Colonial medical science," said Dickins.

"Ah."

xxxxxxxxxx

They were making enough racket to make everybody's heads hurt, including the Cylons', but Luana's piercing scream at the tail end of the caterwauling was the _pièce de résistance_. Dayton winced, his head still throbbing from the after effects of the Cylon chemical attack, and lay down flat on his back. Meanwhile, Luana turned on the waterworks, even though she looked irritably at the others for being the one that they all agreed should break down into what she had referred to as a 'stereotypical display of a female emotional maelstrom'.

"But it works," Baker had stated flatly.

"That's not the point. It's degrading." She'd retorted.

"Look, Luana. Right now you have to be even more worried about Starbuck than the rest of us." Apollo had inserted gently. "So all we're asking is you focus that energy into ranting at the Cylons."

"It might even make you feel better. We all have to vent, Princess." Dayton had added.

The door to the brig opened, and two centurions walked jerkily down to the cells. By now, only Luana's sobs were audible. The men had ceased their shouting and were clinging anxiously to their cell bars, gazing forlornly across at Dayton. Boomer, sharing Dayton's cell, was leaning over him, his head bowed and his hands still placed on the Earthman's chest where he had been presumably doing chest compressions. At least, that was the set up.

"What-is-happening?" The first centurion asked, his red light only crossing half of the usual distance across his face plate, presumably indicating he was 'blind' on his left side. The usual drone the scanning made didn't sound right either.

"He's dead!" Luana screamed, her hair loose and askew as she clung to the bars. Her knuckles were white as though she had tried to wrench the unforgiving metal bars apart, despite the futility. "You. . . you killed him!"

"That-is-impossible. I-was-nowhere-near-him." The centurion droned, turning to view the inert man.

"Impossible? Look at him. Just look at him!" Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "It was that poison you subjected us to that killed him!" She cried, her voice increasingly shrill. "It was lethal, you. . .gallmonging, heartless, soulless pieces of . . . programmable felgercarb!" The last she spat out. They stared at her in return, their droning and fanning red optical scanners her only reply. She dropped her head, and began sobbing.

"Terminator!" Baker yelled out.

"This-was-not-part-of-Base-Commander-Malus'-plan." The centurion turned to face his fellow trash can. "He-will-not-be-pleased."

"We-must-report-the-aged-Human's-demise," the other added, turning to go.

"You bastards!" wailed Luana. She threw herself against the bars with renewed energy, glaring at the two guards, while unchecked tears rolled down her grimy face. "Walk away! Just walk away, now that.. . ." she looked across at the unmoving Dayton, and then at the empty cell next to hers. "Now that you've killed . . .taken my . . . Starbuck . . ." her voice broke, and she slid down the bars to her knees on the floor. She bowed her head, her long hair sweeping forward to cover her face. Her shoulders shook silently as she rested her forehead against the cold metal.

"We-must-report," said the half-eyed centurion, and the two left.

Silently, the men watched her for a moment, exchanging looks of guilt. They had thought it would be good for her to release emotions that they knew a tenderfoot like Luana had to be bottling up.

"Sorry, Princess," Dayton murmured, still lying on his back, his face turned towards her shaking form.

Then Apollo kneeled down beside her, lightly resting his hands on her shoulders, and sweeping her hair back from her face as though she was a child. "Luana?" He pulled her gently into his arms, holding her tight. "We'll get him back. I promise."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Do you know what you're going to do yet?" Ama asked Chameleon as they stood in the corridor. He was idly tossing a coin in the air.

"I told you, Ama, often a situation has to present itself. Half the skill in orchestrating a confidence game is using the available environment and _all_ of the subtle nuances to your advantage at the time," Chameleon replied calmly, straightening his waistcoat as he leaned casually against the bulkhead of the _Rising Star_, looking out a viewport.

"I like plans, Chameleon. Plans are good."

"I noticed that, but still, unlike many women, you have an astounding ability to think on your feet," he smiled.

"Now you're using flattery to change the subject," she retorted, crossing her arms.

"You also cut through the felgercarb as though it was water," Chameleon chuckled.

"I suppose I'm a little . . . worried about you," Ama confessed, her previously intense expression softening to one of concern.

"Worried about me?" Chameleon replied, half-turning to look at her. He dropped his coin. "Whatever for?"

"Because your son is once again missing in action."

Chameleon ducked his head, bending to retrieve his coin, then slowly straightened to meet her steady gaze. "As is your goddaughter."

"Yes, but I know in my heart that they're alright. You simply humour me when I tell you that, until you can see it with your own two eyes."

"I trust my eyes," he replied, watching her smooth a hand over her white hair, elegantly swept up off her neck. "They have helped me out of many a tight spot."

"I trust my heart. It has done much the same for me, Chameleon."

He nodded briefly and a long moment of silence passed between them. "Every time I think I've lost him . . ." His voice threatened to catch. "I . . . can't help but regret the yahrens that I wasted . . ." When he had finally come clean with Starbuck about being the young man's father, the most difficult part of his confession had been the fact that he had accepted the complete devastation and ruin of his home, and the surrounding terrain, as evidence that his toddler son was dead. In direct contrast to the story he had first fed Starbuck on the _Rising Star_ while trying to get safe passage off the luxury liner, he hadn't spent a lifetime looking for his son. In any event, that particular life experience had created one of the most convincing and oft used characters in his conman's repertoire, the Traumatic Amnesiac.

"He doesn't blame you, Chameleon. At least, not any more," Ama assured him, lightly covering his hand with her own.

"Perhaps." Chameleon shrugged. "Do you realize that tomorrow is his natal day?"

"Does he?" Ama asked curiously.

"I told him his given name and his birth date several sectars ago. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable with them, as though . . . they didn't quite fit. He hasn't brought them up since."

"What is his name?."

"Starbuck," Chameleon replied, a mask slipping into place over his features.

"His birth name."

"I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, friend or foe. I gave him my word." Chameleon replied. He could still remember the look of dismay on Starbuck's face when he had found out what his real name was. Almost as if he had ripped his pants in public.

"Is it so hideous?" Ama smirked.

"_I_ didn't think so . . . until I told him." Chameleon smiled wryly. Gabrielle had chosen the name a full secton after the baby had been born. He could still picture her on the porch swing, feeding their child, the tiny body pressed against hers, the suns bathing them both in its glow. She had raised her face to bask in the warm radiance, and had abruptly laughed joyfully before looking down at her child and whispering his name for the first time. Even after the passage of time, he could still feel the intensity of his emotions from that precious moment. "My son had certain expectations after a lifetime of fantasizing about being reunited with his family. I'm afraid I didn't meet many of them." He shrugged, as though it didn't affect him one way or the other. At least, he would never let on that it did. _Not that he could ever fool Ama._ "I expect he would have liked to have been called 'Adama'."

"Perhaps he would have liked to have been called 'Chameleon'?" Ama returned.

Chameleon chuckled. "I doubt that. I think Starbuck's ambitions exceeded 'Chameleon'."

"I think you underestimate him, Chameleon. You spend so much time judging yourself, Hades, _condemning_ yourself, for failing to meet his so-called expectations that you haven't bothered to ask him what those might be. Have you?"

"He tells me that he's taking it one day at a time."

"But that doesn't sit well with you," Ama commented. "Chameleon . . . knowing Starbuck as I do, I'd say that really isn't much different from how he lives the rest of his life. The boy's not exactly known for his clearly defined life plan. As he would say, he likes to 'wing it'." She smiled. "Now . . . does that sound like anyone else you know?"

"Perhaps . . ." Chameleon admitted.

"Enjoy the time you have together, Chameleon. None of us know when it will come to an end. I had so little time with my own parents that, believe me, I know whereof I speak. And stop being so hard on yourself." Ama raised her chin, looking in the distance, as though detecting something.

"They're coming?" Chameleon asked, straightening his casual pose as she nodded. "How many guards?"

"What do you think I am? A one-woman surveillance system?" She frowned at him.

"Well, it would have been a nice gesture if you were," he replied with a grin. "Get down on the deck, Ama."

She rolled her eyes before acquiescing. A moment later, he was leaning over her patting her 'limp' hand. Footfalls echoed down the corridor and Chameleon paused, waiting for his cue. They turned the corner, only a few metrons away.

The conman looked up to see the three Earthmen being followed by the Security Officer, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. "Please help me!" he shouted hysterically, waving his arms wildly as though trying to get the attention of a man a hundred metrons away. Then he saw the Blackshirt reach for his communicator. "Ah, that's better!" Chameleon's voice radiated relief as he leaned over Ama. She opened her eyes and looked at him in amusement. "Speak to me, my dear. Speak to me."

"Is she okay?" The Officer asked, his hand pausing in indecision over the comm as he strode towards them.

"She looks a bit peaked to me," Ryan added. "Hey, lady! Are you okay?"

"Mind your own business, she's one of ours," the guard muttered, pushing the Earthman aside and leaning down beside the elderly couple. "Ma'am? Do you need a med tech?"

"I . . . I don't believe so," Ama replied, shakily sitting up and gripping the Security Officer's arm. She clung to him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, gripping his sleeve with her other hand until she was firmly in his embrace. Then she looked expectantly at Ryan. "I. . ."

Ryan looked around searchingly, then sighed and interlinked his hands, bringing his two fists down hard on the Blackshirt's neck. He crumpled forward wordlessly into Chameleon's arms, trapping Ama beneath them.

"A little crude, Ryan, but effective." Ama nodded approvingly.

"Well, I wanted to Bing and Bob him, ala The Road to Morocco, or maybe the Vulcan Nerve Pinch, but I never quite perfected that." Ryan admitted, watching Dickins and Porter pull the Security Officer off the others.

"Into the turbo lift." Chameleon pointed to the nearby maintenance lift. "I locked it, so we won't have to wait. Now move before we get spotted."

"Where exactly are we going to deposit this bulk of a Hulk?" Ryan asked, helping his friends drag the man into the lift.

"Dr. Cordis' office. This maintenance lift will drop us just down the corridor from it. After all, he's expecting Dickins." Ama replied with a smile. "And with a little memory alteration and a hasty regeneration treatment, both Cordis and this fine officer will only remember that Dickins was found to be _non compos mentis_ when he shot himself with the Security Officer's laser. Then this young man found himself on Cordis' longseat when his own repressed memories of his father committing suicide abruptly surfaced during the interview."

"Latin, Ama," said Dickins. "I'm impressed."

"Where did you. . ?" Ryan started.

"Later. As Chameleon says, speed is essential. To Doctor Cordis' office. And, when they come to their senses, we will be on the _Galactica_ as members of the research party."

"How are we going to get there?" Ryan asked, selecting the level for Cordis' office. "Walk? Or maybe you have a transporter hidden somewhere?"

"I have a Council shuttle standing by in the _Rising Star_'s loading dock," Ama explained. "There are a few perks to being on the Council of the Twelve, after all."

"Knew I should have run for Parliament," said Ryan. "Just knew it."

xxxxxxxxxx

Starbuck knew that he had to keep his wits about him, but that was difficult to do while they were pounding their way through his skull with little mallets and chisels—not to mention the occasional pulsar cannon—obviously trying to escape the booming in his head. He forced himself to focus as the two centurions dragged him down a passageway that had been carved out of the rock, which reminded him of the system of tunnels and caverns on Empyrean that Ama's people lived in. Moisture that couldn't have been compatible with Cylon circuitry trickled down the walls.

"No wonder you guys are rusty . . ." he murmured.

"Silence," one of his guards ordered him.

"I thought you were going to interrogate me. How do you expect answers if you want me to be silent?"

That seemed to stump them.

"It will go better for you, Lieutenant, if you'd show a little respect." The IL preceding them stated.

If he blinked he could almost imagine being back on Baltar's Base Ship, being escorted by two other centurions and Lucifer. Life had a strange way of repeating itself. What the frack . . .

"You mean things could get worse?" For a moment, he wished that he had his arms free so he could strike a match on one of the centurions. Just for continuity's sake. Then again, he had switched to an ignitor, so it would lose the effect.

"_Much_ worse," the IL replied, turning to halt the procession. "What are your people doing so far from the Colonies?"

"What are _yours_ doing so far from Cylon?" Starbuck returned, having difficulty controlling his surprise. "These aren't exactly your usual stomping grounds, you know." These Cylons didn't seem to even be aware of the destruction of the Twelve Worlds of Man. Or the nearby Battlestar and Fleet that were surely within scanner range, even given their outdated equipment. Perhaps the Dynamos also blocked outgoing signals? That would make sense.

The IL seemed to consider his words for a moment, his bulbous head sparkling and sparking before he finally replied, "We are part of an expedition exploring this part of the galaxy."

"Expedition? What kind of expedition?" Starbuck had trouble keeping the surprise out of his voice. _Expedition? Cylons? _It was difficult to align Cylons with anything other than warfare and death. Discovery and exploration were something that Humans did, not Cylons.

"Exploring the universe, Lieutenant. Something your own people used to do before the war, I believe." The IL looked at the centurions flanking the warrior. "Release him. He's hardly in any shape to escape."

_THUD._

_"_Allow him to regain his footing first, Centurion."

"By-your-command."

Starbuck slowly climbed to his feet. He weaved for a moment before regaining his equilibrium as he pondered the other's words. Exploring the universe had become a impossible dream for the Colonies as all available resources went towards the war effort. Other than the Thirteenth Tribe, as far as Starbuck was aware, the _Galactica_ and its Fleet had gone further away from the Colonies, not to mention the ancient motherworld of Kobol, than any other Humans before them. "I get the idea that you've been. . . exploring this planet for a while. Not the universe," Starbuck returned.

"One hundred and four yahrens, seven sectars, two sectons, four days . . . thereabouts," the IL replied, it's red 'eyes' appearing to cross for a moment.

Starbuck blinked. This _definitely_ wasn't your typical Cylon. "Must get a little . . . routine after one hundred and four yahrens of same old, same old."

"You have _no_ idea," the IL replied in a long-suffering tone.

"When's your ship due to pick you up?"

The red eyes stopped moving for a moment, before once again resuming their usual pattern.

"Ah, I see . . . they're overdue." Starbuck nodded thoughtfully. "That's gotta be tough to take. Being abandoned by your Base Ship with a bunch of centurions desperately in need of overhauls and rebuilds." He looked at the two behind him. "I feel for you, pal . . . uh, what's your name? Do you have a name?" He reflexively felt his pocket. _Yup! _His ignitor and the stub of this morning's fumarello. He looked at one of the centurions and sighed with regret.

"Of course. Base Commander Malus, at your service." The IL bowed politely.

Starbuck inclined his head. It was like no interrogation he'd been to before, especially as the guy supposedly being interrogated. In fact, this guy was so polite, he made Baltar look like the Butcher of Hoedus VI. "So why did they drop you off, Mal? Do you mind if I call you 'Mal'?" he asked as an afterthought as he lit his fumarello.

"Mal?" Malus replied thoughtfully. "Why?"

"Because it would please me." Starbuck shrugged. "And believe me, Mal, with this headache, I could use a little pleasure in my life right now."

"Like pain, pleasure is a Human concept." Malus replied. "But a compelling one all the same."

"What pleases you, Mal?"

"I've given that a great deal of thought."

"You have?" Starbuck replied in surprise, then he grinned. "In that case, we probably have more in common than either of us think."

"Believe me, Starbuck—do you mind if I call you Starbuck?—I've had the time to reflect on pleasure and many other things since realizing that I was marooned on this Cybernetically forsaken planet."

Starbuck was certain he heard a _snarl _in the last three words. "I'll bet that more than anything you just want to get off this rock."

"Yes, but there is one other mystery I want to solve. And I believe that Humans are the key to me finally finding the answer."

"Come again?" Starbuck asked, his brow furrowed in bemusement.

"This way." Malus replied, moving onward.

"Lead on, Mal."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The tunnel opened up into an enormous cavern, which appeared to be the main Control Centre. Although they were a little dated, and some were dark, Starbuck immediately recognized the Cylon control systems. They hardly seemed to have varied in their basic layout in ages, and were quite similar to those he had seen aboard both Baltar's and the infiltrated Base ship. However, across from the banks of computers that he figured were mainly for communications, scanning and recording data—especially if these Cylons were _really_ explorers—was a small stationary desk, and several metrons above and ahead of that, the largest gallmonging screen he had ever seen.

He knew Malus' optical sensors were following his every move, and it was with some effort that he reined in his reaction to the illustration of the large piece of fruit with a chunk out of it. He cocked his head to the side as he gazed upon the black and white depiction, then he stepped forward and paused before the simple workstation. A small black case, about the size of a box of fumarellos, but half as thick, with a keyboard in front of it sat there. With a cursory glance back at the IL, he pulled the black chair on castors out from the station. It squeaked, as if the castors were rusty. But he bit off the sarcastic comment that came to mind, and took a seat in front of the keyboard.

"Do you know what it is, Starbuck?" Malus asked, coming to stand behind him.

"Of course," Starbuck replied with a nod. "You're right, you know. This set up is _definitely_ Human." He ran his fingers lightly over the keyboard, not with enough pressure to activate anything, only to find his fingers fit each indent perfectly, and that it was set up similarly to the standard Colonial keypad, albeit the symbols were unfamiliar to him. "How did you discover it?"

"Our Base Ship discovered this planet and sent a patrol to investigate the strange spheroids that sequentially surrounded it. The planet itself seemed unremarkable, other than an unidentifiable power source at this location. The life forms we discovered were primitive."

"Power source? Not this little thing?" Starbuck indicated the small box.

"I believe that this is the control interface for the emitter array that transmits wavelons to the spheroids. It's above us directly." Malus pointed upwards, "It is recessed into the rock formations, and only visible with a concentrated scan. . . if you can get one to work."

"We're in a cave?"

"We are. I thought that would be obvious from the tunnels."

"Hey, I've come across a couple Cylon bases already, Mal, and you're not exactly known for your cheery décor and bright colours." Starbuck retorted. "So . . . how did you get through the defensive network?"

"We found a hole," Malus replied. "A gap in the spheroids' coverage. We were able to penetrate the defensive system and find this crude Control Centre. It was perplexing."

"So your commander assigned a research team to this planet, in order to figure it out?" Starbuck asked.

"Yes. My research team. They continued on their deep space probe, with the intent of retrieving us upon their return voyage."

"When was that supposed to be?" Starbuck asked.

"Seventy yahren ago," the IL replied. "Long before then, our hole through the defensive network filled in, and we were unable to leave without being neutralized by the spheroids."

"You tried?"

"Yes."

"How many ships did you lose?"

"Six," admitted the IL.

Starbuck blew out a long whistle.

"What was that?" Malus asked, leaning over to examine the Human.

"What?" Starbuck asked, then it occurred to him what the Cylon was referring to, and he whistled again. "That?"

"How do you make that noise? It's enchanting."

"By forcing air through a small opening." He waggled his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling. "We Humans do it constantly, through one opening or another."

"Why?"

Starbuck chuckled lightly. "Whistling is used to express things. Emotions. It also amuses us. In fact, most of us—the male half most especially—find it darn right hilarious. Especially when directed at the female half. You . . . you haven't seen many Humans. Have you, Mal?"

"I'm an explorer and researcher, Starbuck. I would have enjoyed learning more about Humans—especially since we have been at war with you for so long, but my duty lay elsewhere," Malus explained.

"So you find us . . ."

"Fascinating," Malus replied, his lights seeming to brighten. "I would have liked to keep one of you as a pet."

"A pp-pet?" Starbuck stuttered in disbelief, the sudden image of Malus leading him around by a collar coming to mind. He shuddered.

"Yes. At one time, and for a price, there were actually a few of your race available on Cylon for domestication. Prisoners of war, I was told. I rationalized that only by _having_ a Human nearby, would I truly get to understand your nature."

"And how would you feel about being my pet, pal?"

The IL straightened, perfectly mimicking Human behaviour. "That would be ridiculous! I'm the most advanced artificially created Being in the universe . . ."

"Really? Then why would you entertain the idea of keeping an intelligent, sentient Being as a pet?"

"Ah. I see." Malus was quiet for a moment, and it seemed as if the flashing of his brain core sped up briefly. "Hmm. I admit I hadn't thought of it that way. I suppose I was initially programmed to believe that Humans were quite beneath Cylons, both in intelligence and strength."

"Well, you might have one over us in 'strength', but smell isn't everything, Mal."

"I didn't mean . . ."

"It's a joke."

The IL paused. "Oh, yes. Jokes. Humour. I've heard about jokes. I'm very intrigued about them."

"Then you'd better keep me around."

"Are you an authority on jokes?" Malus enquired.

"Let's just say that I have a reputation for a sense of humour," Starbuck replied. "I like to have a laugh. You said, you 'were initially programmed'. What do you mean, initially?"

"I have the ability to modify my initial programming to a great deal. Since my initial activation, I have rewritten entire sections of my master program several times."

"So you can . . . learn?"

"My circuitry is also capable of learning through experience, rather than solely through programming. You sound surprised by that."

"Well, most of the Cylons I have encountered seem to follow orders and do as they're told. Their capacity to learn from their experiences and modify their behaviour accordingly seems extremely limited." He thought of the two Cylon pilots in Wilker's lab, but decided mentioning them to Malus might not be a good idea.

"I see the same qualities in your average Colonial Warrior."

"But not all of them. Besides, we join the Service because of our own individual beliefs. We're not created to be warriors. We choose our own futures."

"The military has their own form of programming, Starbuck. As does the larger society."

"Cylon society?" Though he'd seen what were obviously civilian Cylons on Gamoray, Starbuck had never stopped to wonder just what their function might be in the overall social system, or what a culture of _robots _would even be like.

"_Any_ society, Starbuck. As a researcher, I have studied many."

"And how best to invade their worlds. Their weaknesses. Their strengths," he returned accusingly. "Yes, we have a saying for that. _Know thy enemy._"

"You're very perceptive, Starbuck. And intriguing. It is why I selected you."

"I'm a fascinating guy, just ask me." Starbuck returned. "So tell me . . . this Base Ship that dropped you off, what was it you were looking for?"

"Base Ships."

"I see. More than one." He worked to keep the alarm out of his face. "How many?"

"Three."

He raised an eyebrow. _Three_ Base ships this far out in space? "What class?"

"Abaddon." Malus paused. "Commander Yugra was responsible for discovering and mapping the new star systems. He was a true explorer, and was intent that the war with you Humans would not stand in the way of our discovering new worlds."

"Uh . . . but didn't you discover new planets with the intention of claiming them for Cylon?"

"What explorer doesn't raise his standard when he discovers a new world?" Malus countered. "I believe you Humans are no different."

"Are you delirious?"

A micron later, "I may have a few malfunctions, but I don't believe delirium is feasible in a cybernetic life form. Why do you ask?"

"Was that a joke, Mal?" Starbuck sniffed.

"Truthfully, Starbuck, I am enjoying our discussion more than anything else I've experienced in the last one-hundred and four yahrens, and I suspect that if we begin to discuss and compare our respective civilisations, we may cease to be polite."

"Well, that's definitely true, in my case." Starbuck agreed.

"Now, tell me what it is," Malus asked him, motioning towards the symbol above them.

"A piece of fruit. Human nourishment." Starbuck replied, looking at the enormous screen once again. It was far enough ahead of him that he could comfortably see it without moving his head at all. As though some ergonomic assessment had taken that into account. The chair wasn't half bad either. "It's called a _pomon._"

"I've come to realize that after seeing them growing every yahren for a hundred and four yahrens. I had some brought in, and analysed sixty-one yahrens and four sectars ago. What does it mean?" Malus asked, placing his hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "And why is there a piece missing from this one?"

"Because, Mal . . . we're the missing piece." Starbuck replied, wondering if the Cylon would believe him . . . wondering if he believed it himself.

Starbuck had seen that symbol once before. Baker had some tiny little box that he had been trying to refit, restore and resurrect ever since he had found it wedged into a corner in the _Endeavour_'s flight deck, apparently overlooked by the pirates when they had stripped the Earth ship for anything useable. The Earthling had insisted it would play music, when it worked properly. He had called it a . . . Starbuck wracked to his brain to remember through the steady thudding of his skull . . . an eye pod, or something like that. Whatever that symbol meant . . . it came from Earth, and represented a significant aspect of their technology.

Malus gripped his shoulder suddenly. "It has just occurred to me that I've been doing most of the talking, Starbuck. What are your people doing so far from the Colonies? How did you come to find this place, and penetrate the planetary defences?"

"Like you, we're explorers. We were looking for . . . the spheroids, when we lost power and our ships went down. Our people launched a rescue mission."

"Your Base Ship?"

"The Starcruiser _Solarus_," Starbuck replied, wincing slightly under the pressure of the cybernetic hand. "Take it easy there, pal. I bruise easily. Just like the fruit. We're practically related."

The pressure eased slightly, then Starbuck was abruptly facing the IL, the other spinning his chair around. "Are you trying to tell me that your people are responsible for this planet and control system? That Colonials . . .have the knowledge to engineer planets?"

"Look around you, Mal." Starbuck replied. "I mean. . .hey. This stuff isn't Cylon."

"I don't believe it," Malus replied. "You don't have the technology."

"You stuck around a hundred and four yahrens, waiting to see who would show up to claim all this . . . and now that we have, you don't believe me?" Starbuck cocked an eyebrow.

"Then make it work, Starbuck," Malus ordered him, spinning the chair around once again, until Starbuck had the keyboard at his fingertips.

Again, the IL squeezed his shoulder painfully. "Umm. . .I could do this better if you weren't trying to break my shoulder."

Malus made no adjustment to the pressure.

Starbuck winced, but he otherwise ignored the pain as he reached forward slowly, not having the faintest clue if a one-hundred and four yahren old computer, which had apparently somehow come from Earth, would even work. Dayton would come in handy about now . . . He dropped his hands into his lap. "Our technical specialists that could get this baby running, aren't part of the landing party. Look, Mal, let's put all our cards on the table. You want off the planet—we have a ship. You want to know why this planet has been engineered and why—we have the specialists that are qualified to get you those answers." At least he hoped so. "I think we need to barter. Our freedom for some cooperation."

"You want to strike a deal?" Malus asked, slowly letting go of Starbuck's shoulder.

"Well, my first thought was to slowly saw your faceplate off, but considering the circumstances . . ." he looked around at the dozen centurions in the immediate area, "I'm open to negotiating."

Before Malus could speak, the door to the Command Centre opened, and two centurions entered.

"By-your-command, Base-Commander-Malus. We-have-experienced-trouble-with-the-prisoners."

"What kind of trouble?" Starbuck asked, looking over his shoulder at the centurions. The Cylon, true to its limited programming, did not answer Starbuck. It only spared him a brief look, then turned back to Malus.

"Yes, what kind of trouble?" Malus echoed. "Speak, Centurion."

"One-has-terminated."

"What?" Starbuck cried, springing to his feet, and turning around, his heart in his throat. The IL stepped back reflexively as the warrior pushed forward towards the centurions. "Who? Which one? What the frack happened?"

"The-ancient-one." The centurion added. "The-paralytic-toxin-overcame-him. We-found- him-expired."

Starbuck shook his head in disbelief. Dayton or Baker . . . whoever it was, died . . .to save him. He lurched forward, lunging for the Cylon's weapon, actually ripping it from the rusty centurion's grasp . . . and taking a dilapidated arm with it. He hoisted the pulsar rifle, trying to rip the stiff Cylon fingers from the grip.

"You fracking pile of rusty garbage! You'll . . ."

"Neutralize him!"

Then pain exploded in his head, and blackness swallowed him whole.

xxxxxxxxxx

Other than the fact that the Abaddon-class Base Ship was littered with defunct Cylons, burnt and torn cables hanging in tatters, and myriad pieces of fried debris everywhere, once they had entered the Central Core, it looked strangely intact for something that was adrift in space. Bojay stepped over another inert centurion, getting a terrible feeling that he was on some kind of ghost ship, and that any micron the Cylons would come to life, surrounding them and attacking. He kicked away a pulse rifle lying just within reach of its former owner, and bent down to examine it.

"This one's fried, too," Bojay reported. There were scorch marks on the centurion's plating, and one of the cranial plates was partly blown out. "The inner circuitry is a charred pile of felgercarb." He looked up, shining his illuminator into the gloom. A power cable hung loose. Bojay decided that it had torn loose during the. . .whatever it had been, and hit the centurion, blowing his circuits out totally.

"Eerie, isn't it?" Dorado muttered, passing him as they entered the Computer Banks. The control panel for the doors had been devoid of any power, as well as totally fried, and they had had to physically pry the doors open. Like the rest of the ship, it was cloaked in darkness, the only light cast was that of their illuminators.

"I have this strange urge to fire on them, just to make _sure_ they're dead," Bojay returned, as Dr. Wilker started to look over the massive panels. They reminded him slightly of the main computer banks aboard the _Pegasus. _Big, looming, and mysterious. Only here and now, their utter darkness made them seem more so.

"They're not technically _dead_, Captain," Wilker told Bojay. "Only deactivated."

"You mean if we powered them up, they would run just like they did before?" Brie asked hesitantly.

"It's possible. Some of them, anyway. But I hope you're not suggesting I try quite yet," Wilker returned with a smile, not turning his attention from his inspection. Despite any attempts he made, the panels remained dark and silent. "As Brie mentioned, so far we've seen little to indicate any battle damage. I believe we should be looking for more of a scientific explanation here."

"What about the landing bay?" Rooke inserted. "Something blew up in there."

"Yes, but the explosion appeared to have originated within the Base Ship." Dorado pointed out, raising his eyebrows at Bojay when Wilker nodded at the warrior approvingly. "The hull was blown from the inside out."

"What are _you_ thinking, Dr. Wilker?" Bojay asked.

"Let me look in the Control Centre before I answer that," Wilker pointed to a matching pair of doors that supposedly separated the Computer Banks from the Control Centre. As they approached, they could see that the doors were stuck partway open. Like the outer doors, these were void of power. Unlike them, the control panel seemed undamaged. Wilker knelt down, pulled out his portable power unit, and went to work.

xxxxxxxxxx

Ama lead the way as they filed out of the Council shuttle into the _Galactica_'s landing bay, not pausing when several hangar crew members looked at them curiously. After all, this _was_ a high security military vessel, and while the Councilwoman certainly had clearance, the Earthmen and Chameleon did not. She simply met their glances one at a time, waved a hand in the air—smiling to herself when two of them flinched—and said in a clear, brisk voice, "Council business."

For a final flourish, she whirled in a circle, her flowing skirt spiralling outward, and her wild hair escaping her coiffure. Despite her tactics, Jenny, the Chief Warrant Officer, reluctantly headed over.

"Councilwoman Ama, these civilians don't have clearance . . ."

"It's quite alright, Jenny. They are to be included on the landing mission," Ama replied, gesturing towards the others to follow her to the turbo lift. "Hasn't Commander Adama informed you?" she asked, hoping she had just the right amount of surprise in her voice.

"Uh . . . no, Ma'am." Jenny glanced towards the comm unit. "I haven't heard a word from him."

"Call me 'Ama', dear." Ama placed a hand on the other woman's forearm, and smiled like her favourite aunt might. "Then we'll just check in with him, and set this straight."

"But . . ."

Ama stopped, taking the CWO by the hands and staring deeply into her eyes. She could sense the strength and determination of this woman. To use one of the Earth phrases, this would not be a _cakewalk_. "If we're going to set things right, Jenny, we need the Earthmen down on that planet. Time is short, dear. Do you understand?" She pushed.

Jenny shook her head briefly, blinking. "That's about as cryptic as the Kobollian scrolls to me, Ama. I need orders from Command, not mystical mutterings."

Ama smiled in delight. "I admire your dedication to duty, even if it's extremely inconvenient." She let out a deep breath, pausing and looking back at her small party. "Can we compromise? What if someone was to escort my people to the launch bay, while I speak with Commander Adama?" She liked Jenny. And she'd rather use her powers of persuasion than any other options she held in reserve. "That way, there's no security breach."

"Ama, according to the regs, you should all get back on your transport and leave," Jenny replied, her jaw set stubbornly.

"I see," Ama murmured, glancing back at the Council Shuttle and waving a hand at it. "_That_ shuttle?"

"Yes, of course." Jenny replied briskly. "That is the one you just arrived on."

"I'm afraid it has malfunctioned. In fact, it's also out of fuel. Between running a diagnostic, refuelling, and repairing her deficits, I would think we'll be here at least . . ." she glanced at her chrono. "Oh, a few centars."

"Your pilot said _nothing_ of any malfunctions." Jenny replied, her eyes narrowed.

"Because, he was unaware of them, dear heart. Go ask him. I'm sure all will be imminently clear to the poor old sod now, and he'll be wondering why he didn't notice before." Ama smiled pleasantly. "No doubt he will be questioning his powers of observation, so please do tell him, it has more to do with mystical mutterings than a dereliction of duty."

Jenny opened her mouth, but words failed her. Starbuck had told her many unbelievable things about this woman. This was a case in point. She let out a short breath, and strolled towards the shuttle, calling back, "We're not done here yet, Necromancer."

"Of course not, Jenny. I'll have Ryan, Porter, and Chameleon wait in the launch bay. I'm sure a transport will become available in short order." Ama knew how tight they were on military transports at the moment, most of them currently being prepared either for the attack on the planet, the research team that would follow, or the salvage mission. She smiled as she heard some very un-lady like mutterings spew out of the CWO's mouth.

_Really, my dear! What would your mother say??_

"How'd it go?" asked Ryan, coming up behind her.

"So far, so good." She turned to look at him, and before his mouth was fully opened again, she interjected, "Hey, don't count this old girl out, just yet."

"Never," he smiled.

xxxxxxxxxx

"This is it, Dayton," Apollo said, watching the Earthman close his eyes and go limp as the clanging of the opening door resounded through the Brig. The captain's chest was tight with tension. He really didn't like anyone else taking these kinds of risks. Hades Hole, that was his job! But his hands were tied, thanks to the rest. "Ready, Boomer?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Boomer replied, shaking his head.

"Only if you have an opening, buddy," Apollo reminded the lieutenant. They could create other opportunities if need be. However, they all knew that the sooner they could get a man on the outside, the sooner they could help Starbuck. "Otherwise don't risk it."

"No risk, no glory," Boomer murmured, tensing as he leaned over the Earthman. "Right?"

Dayton just winked, then closed his eyes again.

Apollo and Dayton had argued back and forth, the captain not wanting to endanger the Earthman anymore than necessary. Dayton had, of course, argued 'in for a penny, in for a pound'. Not that it made sense to anyone other than Baker, who had rolled his eyes and muttered something Apollo didn't catch. Their plans took a turn when the centurions entered the Brig.

"Starbuck!" Luana and Apollo cried simultaneously, both jumping to their feet.

The warrior, completely unresponsive, was slung across one of the Cylon's shoulders. The centurions stopped before Boomer's cell, using their card key to unlock the door. One pulled open the door, his pulse rifle aimed at Boomer

"Put-your-head-on-your-hands."

Boomer hesitated. "My head on my hands?"

"Or-some-variation-thereof." The other Centurion added. They all noted that it now sported but a single arm.

Boomer raised his hands slowly, resting them on his head.

"This man needs medical attention," Apollo insisted, glancing worriedly at his friend. Starbuck had an unnatural pallor to his skin. Almost as if he . . . "He needs to be in a medical facility, not a Brig."

"I-understood-he-was-terminated," the Cylon returned, unceremoniously tossing the lieutenant at Boomer, and then reaching over and grabbing Dayton, dragging him from the cell with his single arm.

"What?" Apollo choked, his guts wrenching. He gripped the bars before him, squeezing them futilely as he gritted his teeth. He could feel a howl of anguish ready to burst forth, like a dam breaking . . .

"What the frack . . .?" Tone muttered, craning to look at the warrior.

"NO!!" Luana screamed, throwing herself at the bars.

Boomer scrambled out from under Starbuck's dead weight, then leaned over him, checking for a pulse. "Wait!" His face was a mask of concentration as he scanned the expectant faces around him. Then he exhaled in relief, however short lived that was. "He's alive, but his pulse is weak!"

"He needs medical attention!" Apollo yelled, shaking the bars. Ironically, though every Cylon was rusted and dilapidated, the bars were in pristine shape. Somehow, this failed to surprise him. Governments, no matter how small their domain, all seemed to have predictable priorities. He gazed across at Boomer who held up a hand covered in blood. Starbuck's blood. Urgently, he looked for the gaping wound that it came from, not seeing it. Meanwhile, the one- armed centurion was remarkably tossing Dayton over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

"We-have-no-such-facility." The other centurion returned, keeping his weapon trained on Boomer and slamming the cell door shut. He moved to follow his fellow Cylon, then paused, turning back to remove the card key.

"Bucko?" Boomer shook his shoulders gently. "C'mon, buddy, wake up."

"Owwhhh." Starbuck groaned, raising a shaky hand to the back of his skull, and wincing. His eyes were tightly closed.

"Then at least let our med tech examine him. Give us back our med kit and we'll treat him ourselves!" Apollo demanded. Boomer was doing a quick check over their friend, looking for other obvious injuries. He frowned across at Apollo, gripping Starbuck's hand that was also stained with blood. It irrationally reminded Apollo of a childhood riddle. What's black and white with red all over. . . ? He took a deep breath, to steady himself. His hands were trembling.

"He's losing a lot of blood from the back of his head, Apollo." Boomer told him.

"I-will-submit-your-request-to-the-Commander."

"By then it might be too late!" Apollo hollered. "Did your commander order him terminated? If he dies, you could be in big trouble!" No response from either tin-head. "We need that med kit now!"

"I-will-submit-your-request-to-the-Commander," the two-armed centurion repeated, walking away. "These-Colonials-are-very-excitable." The Brig door closed loudly behind them.

"Tone . . ." Boomer beseeched the med tech.

"The scalp is very vascular." Tone told them, his face centimetrons from the bars that separated him from Boomer and Starbuck. "Don't be concerned about the blood."

"Easy . . . for you to say . . ." Starbuck whispered, his eyes still tightly shut. "I only have a limited supply."

"Starbuck!" Luana shook her head, slamming a fist against the barrier that kept her separated from him. "What happened? Are you okay?"

The blond lieutenant shook his head faintly, then groaned, pulling his hand free from Boomer's. His chest heaved once, twice . . .

"Turn him on his side!" Tone ordered briskly. "On his side! NOW!" he shouted, when Boomer hesitated.

Then Starbuck was retching noisily, his stomach determined to evacuate its contents as Boomer rolled him over. He curled into a tight ball, both hands clutching his aching head, as he continued to heave and shake, bringing up nothing but a little stomach acid. Then he relaxed a moment, and took a deep breath.

"Starbuck?" asked Lu beseechingly.

"Not tonight, sweetheart, I have a headache . . ." he mumbled briefly, then winced, applying a hand to the back of his head.

"Concussion?" Apollo asked the med tech. Lords, if only it was something so minor!

"That would be my guess . . . from behind bars," Tone replied, his hypo-spray finger just itching to inject the lieutenant with an antiemetic and analgesic, but alas, his hypo had been confiscated. "Any lump on his head?"

"No, not really." Boomer replied, leaning over his friend as the straining eased. "Better?"

"Than what?" Starbuck replied, his eyes peeking out between hooded lids. "This reminds me of the time in the orphanage when the matron put ipecac in the mushie dough, to find out who was snitching it." He coughed, gritting his teeth as a result of the pounding in his skull. "Come to think of it, my astrum felt like my head does now, after she caught me. She was a tough old bird."

"Only you would think of something like that at a time like this," muttered Baker.

"What happened, Starbuck?" Apollo asked. Try as he might, he couldn't get the image of ancient and horrific torture techniques out of his brain. "What did they do to you?"

Starbuck gazed blankly at the captain for a long moment, then pushed himself upright, looking around the cells, purposely examining each face before moving onto the next. He stared at Baker long and hard before swallowing hard and asking, "Where's Dayton?"

"The Cylons just . . ." Baker started to explain, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door.

"Is he dead?" Starbuck interrupted urgently, his tension obvious.

"No!" Boomer denied.

"He's just sleeping." Baker replied with a grim smile.

xxxxxxxxxx

A room full of twenty-odd Cylons, all of the them slumped over control panels or collapsed on the floor. Still nervous at his surroundings, Bojay nudged the gold-coloured centurion with the toe of his boot before squatting down beside Dorado who was considering it quietly. "Their Commander?"

"I suppose," Dorado whispered quietly, glancing back at Brie and Cree who were setting up some additional portable lighting units while Wilker continued to test circuitry and control panels to try and assess the extent of the damage.

"Yes," Cree spoke up. "Gold armour designates a command level centurion. When I was captured on Arcta, the base commander there was gold."

"Right," said Brie, after a moment. "I remember reading your report, Cree." She shuddered involuntarily. The idea of having your brain sucked out by a Cylon interrogation machine . . . "Wha. . .?"

"Ah, light," said Dorado, as the main illuminators flickered on momentarily, distracting him from musing over how much reading the blonde, soft-spoken Brie claimed to be doing. And reports at that. After a moment, the lights went dead again. "Ah, darkness."

"I'm trying to match our electrical values with the Cylon ones." Wilker informed them with a glance at Dorado. He had tried much this same operation on the sleeper shuttle from Terra. Fortunately, this time, there were no Human lives at risk if he blew out the wrong circuit. Intermittently, the Cylon computers would flicker to life, and then die again. Wilker, in reaction, would gasp with delight, then groan in frustration. Oddly, both sounds from the scientist were almost identical.

"Do these guys rise through the ranks, like us, or do they simply get _created_ to be commanders?" asked Dorado, examining an open panel. "Does anybody know?"

Bojay shrugged. "I suppose they just come off the assembly line this way. Complete with the programming necessary to make them Cylon officers. After all, could you see them being promoted, and then having to go back to the factory for a refit of new armour?"

"I'm suddenly realizing I don't know a whole lot about their command structure. Or them as a Race, in general." Dorado glanced across at the other captain. "So much we still don't know about them, even after all this time."

"I was always more interested in learning how to destroy them, myself," Bojay grinned. "But you're more of an intellectual, Dorado. That's probably why Cain promoted you to captain."

"He promoted me to captain because I was the most senior candidate available when the rest of you ended up on the _Galactica_," Dorado shrugged. "You know as well as I that I'd still be a lieutenant if you or Sheba had been aboard."

"Roz and Virtanen told me you that you did a great job of reorganizing what was left of the squadrons and keeping up morale. Don't sell yourself short, buddy," Bojay replied. "Not just anybody could have managed that." Dorado was a solid warrior, who had little in the way of personal ambition, but the intelligence and ability to make him command material. Besides that, he had racked up the _Pegasus_' second-highest kill score ever. He enjoyed the challenges of leadership, but his short-falling was he had little appetite for disciplining his subordinates, perhaps the artifact of an abusive upbringing. Or a lasting aftertaste after commanding Starbuck while Dorado was the Phoenix Squadron Leader in his final yahren at the Academy.

"Roz said that?" Dorado murmured.

"Yeah, and you know as well as I that the woman doesn't mince words."

"She's still carrying a torch for you, Bojay. You should really do something about that," Dorado smiled warmly. "She's one Hades of a woman."

"I'm working on it," Bojay replied wistfully.

"Any chance you two senior officers could stopping discussing your personal lives, and get back to, you know, uhhh. . . work?" Rooke called over to them.

"Yeah, yeah," Dorado muttered good-humouredly before winking at Bojay.

Once again, the Control Centre surged to life, but this time, after a few momentary flickers, the power systems held. Wilker nodded in satisfaction as first one, then another of the data boards around them came to life, and began going through their start-up routines. "There."

"Effusive sort, isn't he?" Dorado quipped.

"Excuse me?" said Wilker.

"Oh, yeah," rejoined Bojay. He moved to one of the panels, pulling the toasted centurion out of the way. "Okay, what do we have, Doc?"

xxxxxxxxxx

It was too fast.

Sheba had lived virtually her entire life in a hurry, or at least at a pace that was acceptable to a Colonial Warrior always on the go, blasting Cylons and defending her people. It might have been a Cain gene, but when she came up with a plan, she acted on it. Hades hole, she'd even been born early! Like her father, she didn't like to sit back and wait for things to happen, or for people to consider them first. She wanted action. Usually.

But Dr. Sobek agreeing to do Cain's surgery had come too fast.

When you took Cain out of uniform, and put him in a Life Station gown on a biostretcher, the formerly indestructible Juggernaut simply looked like a fragile old man. Even with his mouth set in a familiar firm line—at least on one side—and his blue eyes watching the chrono on the wall impatiently, his pale skin seemed as delicate as tissue paper, and his eyes sunken. In reality, the gown was probably a one-size-fits-nobody Life Station special, but all the same, he seemed dwarfed by its shapeless expanse. All illusion of his indestructibility was erased.

It was hard for Sheba to take.

"What in the Twelve Worlds is taking so _long_?" Cain suddenly exploded, betraying his own anxiety.

"They'll come soon enough," Sheba reassured him, just glad to have the chance to take his hand once again before he underwent what could be a pivotal procedure, perhaps altering his life course forever, or ending it. She squeezed his hand gently, leaning down and kissing her father on the forehead. "I love you, Father."

"I love you too, Sheba." Cain returned, his features softening as he smiled up at her.

"Commander Cain, we're ready for you now." Med Tech Giselle told him.

"Now, you're sure that they have me down for _brain_ surgery?" Cain teased her. "I don't want to wake up with any critical parts missing. I may be an old war daggit, but I still like to wag my tail occasionally."

Giselle gasped, then burst out laughing, shaking her head in Sheba's direction. "Oh, I can see that having you in the Life Station for your recovery is going to liven things up, Commander." She then smiled apologetically in the strike captain's direction. "I'm sorry, Sheba, we have to take him now."

Sheba smiled bravely for her father, but words failed her. She blinked back tears as his hand slipped from her grasp and they propelled the biostretcher away.

"You know I'll be back, baby. I always come back." Cain told her as he entered the surgical suite, lifting a hand in farewell.

He'd been saying it ever since she was young enough to remember. She yearned for the days when every time she had heard those words, she'd steadfastly believed him. Even out of the midst of the thickest battle, no matter what the Cylons threw at him, he'd always kept his promise. However, the passage of time had nibbled away at her faith, her innocence, _and_ her naivety, replacing them with stark, chilling reality. She knew the risks, as well as the probabilities. His chances were slim.

And the man who preferred to deal in the probable was willing to risk it all anyway.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Hhmm. . ." said Malus, entering the room. One of the many chambers found when they had first established this base, over the course of a hundred-plus yahrens, it had been used for everything from specimen analysis to storage for deactivated centurions. Along one wall was a long bench, littered with parts for base personnel, and the machines and tools used to try and keep them functioning. In the centre was a long table, fitted with scanners and other things, the function of which was not immediately obvious. "Filthy."

"We-are-ready," said a centurion, clearing piles of junk off the table, and setting down various sharp instruments. Unlike most of the others, he was relatively rust-free, and had all the arms and legs in place.

"Proceed," said Malus. One of the guards turned, and reached down to pick up the motionless Dayton. "This should be interesting, should it not?"

"Our-programmed-knowledge-base-of-Human-construction-is-quite-limited," said the first Cylon. "This-should-add-to-it."

_Brilliant, _thought Malus. "I am eager to determine the effectiveness of our nerve toxin after so long."

The Cylon reached for a long blade. "Indeed. I-will-determine-if-the-neurotoxin-actually-terminated-the-Human-or-if-he-died-of-natural-causes . . ."

With a suddenness that surprised all of them, the deceased Human became suddenly active. With a quick motion, Dayton shoved away the centurion that had lain him upon the table, and reached down into his right boot. Before the assembled Cylons could take up a weapon, he had withdrawn one from his boot, and let off a shot directly into the guard's neck. There was a burst of sparks and noise, and the centurion collapsed twitching to the floor. Within a heartbeat, he had let off another, directly through the second guard's speaker grill.

"Centurion. . ." shouted Malus, but Dayton was not through yet. He rolled off the table, brought his gun up, and fired directly into his would-be dissector's faceplate. The Cylon's head exploded, and it fell to the floor, to join its companions. "I . . . I . . ." said the unarmed Malus.

"Freeze, buster!" ordered Dayton, pointing his weapon directly into Malus' face.

The Base Commander analysed the weapon, even as Dayton withdrew a second, identical one, from his other boot. The IL was confused. The weapon had no energy signatures, no power cells, nothing. Yet. . . "Freeze?" asked the IL. "The temperature in here is well within normal para. . ."

"Shut up!" Dayton stepped over the smoking wrecks, and took hold of Malus. Much to his relief, the IL carried no concealed weapons of any sort. Perhaps this class relied wholly on the centurions for defence? Compared to the centurions, the IL was rather skinny, with thinner arms and legs, and a thorax, with several flashing lights built into it, built more like a toolbox than a Human Being. Its hands, also, were smaller. Almost delicate. "It means, don't move unless I tell you too."

"How exciting that I get to expand my vocabulary and be taken prisoner on my own Base at the same time." Malus replied easily, annoyed that he was across the room from the alarm button. And, unlike the centurion class, he was not built for strength. "What is that weapon? I do not recognize it."

"A .45."

"A what?"

"A United States Army Colt .45 Model 1911. Fires a 230 grain bullet, under twelve-thousand pounds per square inch chamber pressure, with a muzzle velocity of approximately eight hundred feet per second, and a muzzle energy of two-hundred ninety foot pounds." Dayton pressed the pistol's muzzle against the Cylon's head, tapping it on the glass meaningfully.

"Ah. You mean a kinetic energy firearm?" said Malus. "How. . .abysmally primitive."

"Well, it slipped by all your high-tech crap. And unless you do exactly what I tell you, Neon Noggin, then the last sound you will ever hear is going to be one of these babies crashing through your hard drive." He was silent a moment. "You dig?"

"I don't actually 'hear', as you put it. I merely process sounds, and interpret them." Malus informed him, suspecting that the Human, Starbuck, would be more interested in that data. "But if I understand you correctly, then it would seem I have no choice but to comply."

"You got it, Diode Dome."

"Very well. As you Humans say, now what?"

"First, you take me back to the Brig, and free my friends."

"And then?" asked Malus, wondering if the last century of boredom had not been preferable to this. He watched as Dayton, thrusting one of his strange weapons in his belt, kept him covered with the other, and retrieved the laser pistols dropped by the dead guards. With care, he slung one of the blaster rifles over his shoulder.

"And then we'll see, Hi-Fi Head. You know, this thing has a heft like an M-16." He patted the rifle, and then motioned towards the door when the IL didn't respond. "And my friend had better be okay."

"You mean. . .Starbuck?"

"That's _exactly_ who I mean. He'd better be okay. Or I'm going to find me a pair of pliers around here, and have a look inside your head." Dayton smiled. "Capiche?"

"We were actually getting along famously until he heard the news that you were dead," Malus informed him. "I'm afraid he became violent as a result, and we had to subdue him. So in fact, your little ruse is the reason Starbuck was injured. Ironic, don't you agree?"

"I don't believe you," said Dayton.

"Why would I lie?" asked Malus.

"Because from everything I've seen, you Cylons are pathological liars. And besides," he smiled, "you know that if I don't like what you tell me, you'll be joining your buds here in that great electronics shop in the sky."

"I have been completely candid, I assure you. When we reach the cells, you can ask Starbuck yourself."

A nerve twitched in the man's jaw. "Move it, Metal Mouth."

"I was beginning to think that I might have been wrong about Humans, Starbuck was quite pleasant after all . . . and then I met you."

Dayton ground his jaw before saying, "I'm a Cylon's worst nightmare."

"Anyone's, I should think."

"Watch the smart-ass remarks, you tin-plated Terminator, or I'll blow your lips off." He gestured with the rifle. "Now, get moving."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was a bit like standing on the laser range amongst the targets, hoping that no one would notice you. Lia held her breath as her Viper drew closer and closer to the menacing spheroids that they still knew so little about. Where had they come from? What was their purpose? Why were they the sentinels for this planet?

She drew in a deep breath, finding it difficult to maintain radio silence as she looked over at her wingleader. Jolly had insisted that they run silent. He had wanted to give them every chance of getting by the Dynamos, despite how they had theoretically changed position and purpose. Maybe.

The Dynamos were now arranged in a position in orbit above the Cylon base. Every one was accounted for, and they had moved into a spiral position relative to one another, their slight glow detectable to the naked eye. She was dying to turn on her scanners, and find out what they could ascertain. But it was passive scanners only, and right now the Dynamos were just as passive . . . other than that eerie, ambient light.

Mutely, Lia counted down the microns, as they came within known range. At any moment, the Dynamos would attack . . . or perhaps they would do nothing. If only she could detect some emotion from the Dynamos, as Ama had taught her. Or read their body language, as Starbuck had instructed her. But the enemy was a machine, with neither emotions to feel, nor a body that she could read, leaving her with no clue as to what was coming next.

Three, two, one . . . nothing.

Her comm crackled to life, Jolly's relieved voice flooding her helmet. "Looks like we're clear. Dr. Wilker was right. For whatever reason, they aren't acting as sentinels any longer."

"What do we do now?" Lia asked, hoping they could penetrate the atmosphere and find some trace of her sister and friends. She couldn't take the suspense much longer.

"We stick to our orders, Lia," Jolly replied patiently. "We report in, using the same old-style Gamma freq the Earth shuttle used to avoid detection. Commander Adama will launch our attack, and we'll wait here until they catch up."

"That'll take a while," she replied.

"It's the way it's got to be, Lia."

"I know," she sighed.

"Okay," said Jolly, flipping a switch in his cockpit. "Transmitting now."

"Yes, sir," Lia replied, wishing for a moment that it was Starbuck out there with her. Dang, but following orders could be frustrating.

xxxxxxxxxx

Wilker frowned, passing from the Computer Banks back to the Control Centre for what seemed like the umpteenth time in the last centar. He stood at the main Cylon control board, a pile of wires patching and cross-patching various damaged circuits dangling down from the removed panels, cables crossing the floor. "I think this is it."

But he'd said that umpteen times too.

Suddenly, the screen above the station came to life, and after a few moments of snow, then flickering patterns of pixels, Cylon symbols started spewing out across it. Wilker nodded, as the warriors gathered around him in expectation. The scientist glanced down at the data readout he was getting on his own equipment, also wired into the Cylon databank.

"Well?" Dorado asked . . . _also_ for the umpteenth time.

Wilker sighed. "As near as I can figure, we're dealing with the aftermath of a Solar Storm. High energy protons approaching the speed of light unexpectedly bombarded and penetrated this ship, and for some reason—the ship's log might be able to tell us, or it might not—they were unprepared for it." He glanced at the warriors, ensuring he had their rapt attention, before continuing. "You see, nuclear particles collide within the Base Ship and release electrons that build up an internal dielectric charge. The resulting static charge can destroy electronic circuitry both in the ship, as well as the Cylons, disabling both. The particles can also corrupt data and instructions stored in the computer memory banks. Some of the memory damage can be corrected by essentially restarting the system—providing the mainframe's circuitry is intact, which it isn't in places—and some can cause irreparable physical damage to the microcircuitry itself. These types of failures can be fatal."

"I recall hearing from one of my old instructors that one of the main problems with the Abaddon class was their entire scanner and deflector warning systems were inadequate," Dorado told them. "That was one reason they lost so badly at Olinick One. Their scanners were easily snuffed by solar-engendered distortion. Most of them were relegated to support and secondary duties, and then removed from service altogether."

Bojay raised an eyebrow at the other. "You just _recall_ hearing that?" He shook his head in disbelief that the other would retain something so obscure. A glance at a bemused Cree and Brie made him realize they were probably both stuck back somewhere around Wilker's mention of the nuclear particles colliding within the Base Ship.

"Came in handy for secton-end episodes of Trivial Tracking," Dorado shrugged. "Go on, Doctor. Where does that leave us?"

"With minimal power. I'm trying to start up their main systems, but it's calling for an activation code sequence. Something I'm afraid I don't have." Wilker replied. "Initially, I _had_ hoped we might restart the fusion reactors and energizers for the auxiliary engines, and bring her to the Fleet under her own power."

"What I don't understand is why they didn't try and fix her," said Rooke. "Sure, they took damage, but Cylons have damage control, just like we do."

"As far as I can tell, the initial event blew out circuits and breakers all over the ship," said Wilker. "Since Cylons are completely centralized, it may be that the damage-control detail was cut off from the main systems. After a certain amount of time, a lot of her remaining systems seemed to have just shut down. My guess is that when the power dropped below a certain point, it quit." He frowned. "But that's mostly a guess, until we can access her logs."

"Dr. Wilker, how far are we from the sun?" asked Brie. "I mean, what about solar power? Base Ships have solar power back-ups, just like we do. Could we get those on-line?"

"Good idea," said Wilker, and began dancing his fingers over the controls. But after a few centons, he had no luck. "It's asking for a code."

"I've got it," said Dorado. They all looked at him. "From what little I know of Base Ships," he smiled as Bojay looked at him suspiciously, "we should be able to cut in to the main power distribution bus somewhere about here." He pointed to a graphic of the ship on one of the smaller screens, featuring the landing bay their shuttle was in. "Now, if we run a cable, from the power taps on the outside of the shuttle, and fire her engines without engaging them, we. . ."

"Excellent!" said Wilker. "We'll have much more power to work with than these portable units can give us." He tapped the unit at his feet with a boot. "And more time to try and get into her systems."

"Well, then Dorado and I can get started," said Cree. At a nod from the scientist, he and the captain left the Control Centre, and Wilker returned to working on the controls.

Rooke looked around the room, scanning everything and trying a few controls. One station, apparently the security post, was bristling with video screens, but all of them were either snowy or dark. None of the ship's internal sensors were functioning.

"Okay," said Wilker. "We have a complete set of data lines to the mainframe. Now let's try . . . hmm." Wilker touched a screen, and a light flashed on the panel, but nothing happened.

"What was that?" asked Bojay.

"I'm trying to re-initialise the grav generators, but there isn't enough power."

"Hey, we're getting there," said Bojay.

"Yes. But at this rate, I'll be lucky to get Life Support up and running." Wilker frowned up at the screen. "And unless I crack their codes, I might not even be able to do that."

"Doctor, if this ship has been out of circulation for as long as we're theorizing, could we have this old code in our own records?" Rooke asked.

"Now, that's a good thought," Wilker said approvingly. "Assuming it's a military vessel, we just might. Hades, what Cylon ship _isn't_ military? But that could put her here over three hundred yahren ago."

"Would we _save_ three hundred yahren old Cylon codes?" Brie asked doubtfully.

"I don't know." Bojay shook his head. "We'll just have to check."

"How will we salvage her if we can't get her to the Fleet?" Brie asked. "Bring the Hephaestus here?"

"No." Bojay shook his head. "The Hephaestus is equipped with four Haulers."

"Haulers?" Brie repeated in confusion.

"Small, but powerful ships, they're specifically designed for towing or propelling capital vessels that are without engine power, or otherwise combat damaged. They're used in space dock, as well as in salvage work." Bojay explained.

"Armed?" Cree asked.

"Yes. Salvage work can be dangerous, here and now, or back in the days of the Colonies." Bojay replied. "But we'll still send some Vipers to escort them. In fact, Dorado can contact the _Galactica__ and get them under way_, as long as we're still in communications range. We could copy some of this Cylon code and pass it on the Bridge as well to see if they can decipher it. . . if that's okay with you, Captain," he added, over the suit helmet's transmitter, recalling the other was officially in charge.

"Aye, Captain," Dorado replied from the landing bay. "Just give me a centon, Bo."

"How's it going there, buddy?" Bojay asked Dorado. "Any luck?"

"Almost there. We need to cut a. . .yeah, right here, Cree."

"Gentlemen?" asked Wilker.

"Yes. I think we. . ." began Dorado, when the lights suddenly jumped in intensity. Screen after screen came up, and the door to the Command Centre slipped shut.

"Terrific, guys!" grinned Rooke. "This place is lit up like the skies of Caprica during Festival."

"Looks good," nodded Brie.

"Alright, now," said Wilker, disconnecting the portable unit, and trying some more controls, scanner in one hand. Almost at once, the ship's gravity came back on-line. "We have gravity, and. . .life support is coming back on-line as well. On to the code!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Where the hell was the bloody brig?

"Move it, you Blazing Beacon." Dayton sneered, quickly looking behind him to see if they were being followed. The sound of those shots had probably travelled through the caverns like Ricochet Rabbit, and no doubt a patrol of some sort would be coming to investigate, and would find the toasted centurions.

"My, my, this is exciting," the IL Cylon exclaimed, picking up the pace as he strode down the tunnel. "Is there a particular destination you have in mind, or shall I just give you the grand tour?"

"For crying out loud! Now you're starting to sound like Starbuck."

"I am?" replied Malus, his tone seemingly pleased. Then, "Just let me know if I start to sound like you, and I'll shut myself down."

"Can it, Bubble Brain! Just take me where I wanna go."

"Which is where?" asked Malus, with just a hint of asperity.

"The Brig."

"Of course. We're almost there."

"I know." Dayton hoped he sounded as confident as he had intended.

"But of course, you were pretending to be dead the last time you passed this way, and presumably everything looks different when your eyes are open."

Fortunately, Dayton realized that contrary to his initial thoughts, the tunnels were wide open and easily penetrable, something he had not expected in a military installation. No locking doors separated one area from another. So when he came across a solid steel door, he had a fairly good idea, he'd arrived.

"We have arrived," said Malus helpfully.

"Hold it, Sparky." Dayton shoved the pulse rifle into the other's back, vaguely wondering if the IL detected it by some kind of scanner system, or if he could actually feel it. Dayton slipped the card key in place, hearing the familiar clang of the lock opening. "Inside."

He shoved the IL roughly before him, quickly pulling the door shut behind them. He could see the Colonials and Baker poised at the cells, waiting for him with mixed looks of anxiousness and relief. One face was conspicuously absent.

"You did it!" said Lu, unable to contain her relief at seeing Dayton, alive and well. And in apparent control of the situation.

"Old age and guile will win out every time, Luana. Trust me." Dayton steered Malus towards Starbuck's old cell, the door still open. He spared a glance at the kid who was sitting on the floor, propped up against the bars. He looked pale, but alert. Thank God. Dayton hastily returned his attention to the Cylon. "Get in."

"By your command." The IL replied sarcastically as he obeyed.

"Is Vanilla Steamer okay?" Dayton slammed the cell door shut, the clanging echoing through the chamber. He slipped the card key into place, pulling it out again and checking the door. Then he released Apollo and Luana, turning towards Starbuck and Boomer.

"A probable concussion." Apollo replied, glaring at the IL and moving beside Dayton as the Earthman opened the cell. Dayton handed him one of the Cylon laser pistols. The captain jerked the door open, and dropped to Starbuck's side in an instant. Luana was right on his heels, unsurprisingly, squatting on Starbuck's other side. "We need to take the Control Centre before they get organized. Dayton brought a couple weapons, and we have a hostage. Give it to me straight, Starbuck. Can you make it?"

"I take it your offer of a deal is null and void, Starbuck?" Malus enquired, looking over at warrior.

"What deal?" Apollo looked between the two.

Starbuck sighed, shrugging. "Borays. Cylons. When I'm surrounded, I negotiate." He met his friend's intense stare. "I just offered him a ride out of here, and an answer to the pomon. He's not a bad guy . . . for a Cylon." All eyes turned on him in disbelief. "Hey, it beats being tortured."

"Pomon? What in Hades hole . . .?" Apollo asked, and then bit off his retort as Starbuck closed his eyes, wincing again. The lieutenant had filled them in on most of his discussion with the IL, mainly pertaining to what the enemy was doing there, but a pomon hadn't come up. Neither had this deal. "Never mind. Then how did you end up with the concussion if he's such a great guy?" Apollo returned, looking at the IL accusingly.

"A centurion informed us that one of you had expired." Malus inserted, turning to watch Dayton's reaction as he released the final two Humans. "Lieutenant Starbuck became rather violent. We had to react in kind."

"Is that true, Mocha Pot?" Dayton asked, seeing the answer plainly written on the younger man's face. He withdrew the second Cylon pistol from his belt, and handed it to Boomer. "Sorry, kid. We didn't think about how you'd take the news."

"You probably thought they were probing my brain at that point." Starbuck replied, with a rueful smile, which abruptly shifted into despair as Tone squatted down before him. Without so much as asking, the med tech began palpating the back of his skull, and his neck. "I'm fine."

"_I_ will be the judge of that, Lieutenant," said the other. He held up one index finger. "Okay, focus on this."

"Look, I said I'm _fine_!" insisted the Viper pilot, pushing aside the offending digit. "Now get that out of my face before I stick it somewhere dark and . . ."

"Starbuck!" Apollo warned him.

"Then prove it by standing up, Doctor Starbuck." Tone suggested, his visage that of a man who was frustrated with dealing with resistant patients. He settled back on his haunches. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

Starbuck gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing at the med tech. He glanced around, everyone looked back at him expectantly. Waiting. His jaw set, he slowly began pushing himself up the bars, his hands grasping them for support as Apollo and Luana hovered on either side of him. Pale, shaky, with sweat beading on his face when he finally reached the upright position, he wrinkled his face at Tone as he released the bars, finally standing independently. "Just fine."

"Stubborn son of a daggit . . ." Boomer murmured, smiling slightly.

Dayton grinned at him, nodding his approval. Baker nodded, arms folded.

Starbuck wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow, looking to his captain. "This would be easier with Mal on our side." He glanced over at the IL. "Of course, if you betray us, I'll personally drag you back to our ship and refit your head with rotating brushes to clean out the waste pipes."

"I assure you, Starbuck, that won't be necessary." Malus nodded at him.

"We already have the element of surprise, and some weapons. What else could he give us?" Apollo asked Starbuck, glancing at his chrono, knowing their time was running out. "Besides, why should we trust him?"

"Convince him, Mal. You have about ten microns." Starbuck leaned back against the bars, striking a casual stance, but once again mopping at his forehead.

"I am a Cybernetic Being, Captain." Malus told him. "My initial programming instilled a sense of allegiance to my kind. That is to be expected, of course. But my ability to modify, and even override my Master Control Program, improving and enhancing my capabilities, long overcame that particular annoyance. Having spent over a hundred yahren abandoned by my superiors, I admit that my sense of loyalty has been . . . altered inexorably. I offer you my allegiance from this day forward, swearing upon my self-programmed honour that I will be your ally, steadfast and true, as long as you return my allegiance, and treat me with due respect." He paused a moment. "And not as a pipe cleaner."

Apollo glanced at Starbuck, whose was smirking in amusement. The lieutenant's expression rapidly changed as he realized he was under his friend's scrutiny. Blue eyes compelled the captain to overcome his natural prejudices and give the IL a chance. To take a risk. Against the odds. Probably based on the fact that Starbuck had a good feeling about this. Then again, his friend's instincts were usually good . . . as long as gambling wasn't involved. "If you're wrong about him, Starbuck, you'll be the one being pressure-thrust through the waste pipes to clean them out," he whispered seriously. Then to the Cylon, "Alright, Mal, you have yourself a deal."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

As it turned out, Malus' change of allegiance probably wasn't necessary to capture the base, and the IL wasted no time in telling them that not only was their klaxon inoperable—the last successful test of the system had been twenty-three yahrens, four sectars, and three days ago— but most of the remaining centurions had been destroyed in the waves of attacks that the Colonials had been involved in already. As it stood, there was a total of eight and a half Cylons left, following Dayton's attack and capture of the IL. For some reason, Starbuck found that detail amusing . . . but it could have been attributed to his head injury.

Malus had been looking for a way out. He had successfully negotiated his way out of a difficult spot, by claiming he could help them overcome the opposition. It was a bluff that they had all fallen for, and a gambling man like Starbuck couldn't help but respect the ploy, having used it himself with Malus. The Colonials were accustomed to the traditional strategy of strength in numbers when fighting their ancient enemies, and the fact that they had been brought in unconscious, and only two of them had been outside the Brig, both times surrounded by centurions, the overall number of the Cylon forces had been carefully concealed from them.

"Eight and a half?" Apollo asked, glancing at Starbuck sceptically.

"Well, three of them are missing parts, both externally and internally, not to mention that two others have some disabled circuitry." Malus replied. "When you add it all up, it works out to precisely eight point three seven six. But I understand you Humans prefer rough estimates, over exact detail."

"I can't believe this," said Baker. "Half way across the galaxy, and I get a math lesson from a robot."

"Disabled from wear, Malus?" inserted Apollo, ignoring the Earthman. Considering the rough conditions, plus the constant dampness and lack of spare parts, it was entirely feasible.

"Disabled deliberately." Malus replied. "I disabled it. We weren't meant to be left here for a centi-yahren, you must understand, and I was simply unable to give them their mandatory routine maintenance. Cylon Psychosis affected more than one of them. I had to respond by disabling those parts of their programming that were causing the difficulties."

"Cylon Psychosis?" Dayton raised an eyebrow and snorted. "You've got to be joking, Blinker Brain."

"I'm afraid I haven't had much opportunity to work on my 'sense of humour', Commander Dayton, thus I assure you that I am quite serious." Malus replied. "I do intend to concentrate my efforts on Human humour in the future though." He nodded at Starbuck, then turned back to the older man. "If I may ask, Commander Dayton. Do I understand from your rank designation that you are the commander of this . . . Starcruiser _Solarus_?"

"His rank is part of a different command structure," Apollo replied hastily. As yet, the Cylon only thought they were from a small research vessel. The events surrounding the Destruction, the Fleet, the Earthmen, and their search for Earth would be revealed much later, providing Malus didn't double cross them.

"I see," said Malus doubtfully.

"Cylon Psychosis, huh?" Starbuck raked a hand through his hair, then wiped his hand on his pants. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, and he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. "I've never heard of it . . . though it would certainly explain a few things about Cylons. Exactly what kind of behaviour does it cause, Mal?"

"Sounds like a Human condition, not a Cylon one," Luana added as she slipped an arm around Starbuck's waist.

"It's only used to describe malfunctioning centurions. The IL Series is completely immune to it being so much more advanced. I believe you Humans would refer to the behaviour as 'stupidity'. I lost an entire patrol one secton when I told them to 'get lost'. A quaint phrase I

picked up from an associate. It seems they took it quite literally. All of the advanced programming that they were upgraded with to join a research vessel seemed to deteriorate, until all that was left was basic centurion functions. _Less_ than basic really. Most of them were able to follow orders as issued, but even standard assimilation of facts and what to do next became gradually more and more ineffective. Basically, they made adequate soldiers, but couldn't pick a pomon without turning it into pomon sauce, until I specifically explained the amount of pressure to utilize while removing the green orbs from their respective trees."

"This is too weird," Boomer shook his head. "Moronic Cylons."

"Of course, I utilized many defective centurions to repair others, but my own programming in centurion maintenance was limited. I am a researcher. A biological scientist. Not a repair drone." Malus explained, his tone haughty.

"Malus, that's all very interesting, but I think we need to concentrate on eliminating the other eight and a half centurions that are still armed and out there investigating Dayton's shots," Apollo inserted briskly, glancing at his chrono.

"Not all of them are completely armed, Captain," Malus added, his lights shimmering for a moment. "Some only have one arm."

"Ohh!" Baker groaned. He glared at Starbuck, who was now rubbing his eyes, as though trying to clear them. "What have you done?"

xxxxxxxxxx

It was considered unusual, to say the least, for a med tech to haunt the Life Station during her rest period. Typically, except for rare lulls, a shift was emotionally and physically draining enough—starting off at a run, and not slowing down the entire time she was there—to want to stick around for any additional centars. But friendship came before rest. Besides, she would have just been sitting back in her quarters worrying about Mark if she _wasn't_ in the Life Station.

Cassie sat down beside Sheba, putting an arm around her friend's shoulders, and gently pulling her into an embrace. Sheba had been sitting in that chair since Cain had entered the operating theatre, unmoving, except to occasionally brush her thick, brown hair back from her face, or to stare unseeingly at her chrono. Cassie rotated between sitting in the chair beside her friend, and wandering restlessly.

"How much longer?" Sheba whispered absently.

"I don't know. We'll just have to wait," Cassie admitted, smoothing Sheba's hair, as if she was a child. It was the first neural stimulator to be inserted into a Human Being, thus the physicians would be taking their time, doing their utmost to ensure there were no mistakes made while monitoring their famous patient very carefully. "Athena commed. She'll be done with her duty shift soon, and wanted to let you know that she'll be here shortly."

"She doesn't need to come. I'm sure she'll want to keep abreast of what's happening on the planet. That's her brother down there."

"Commander Adama will notify her as soon as he hears something," Cassie replied, marvelling at Sheba's ability to put Athena's concerns before her own. "I'm sure he'll notify all of us."

Sheba pulled away, tucking her hair behind an ear. Again. "I'm sorry. I almost forgot that Dayton is down there too. You have as much to be worried about as the rest of us."

Cassie smiled. "One thing that I've learned about Mark Dayton is that he's a survivor. Emerging alive from that horrible pit with his crew proves that. He'll be fine." She squeezed her friend's hand. "So will Apollo."

Sheba smiled weakly. "I know that. Apollo owes Starbuck one, after our errant Lieutenant towed him out of that asteroid field, and went back to single-handedly get the pirates that crippled Apollo's ship. He'll be back. And he'll have Starbuck with him."

Cassiopeia raised her finely arched eyebrows. "I thought that Apollo was furious with him for doing that."

"Well, of course, that's what he told Starbuck . . . but he couldn't help but be impressed, especially considering how it all turned out. As usual, Starbuck's intentions were good," Sheba replied with a faint smile. The discovery of Earthmen, proof that the _Pegasus_ still existed, and by extension her father, liberating a group of women and children that had been maltreated almost beyond words, it was difficult to discipline a warrior who had purposely disobeyed orders, when so much good had come from his actions.

Cassie simply nodded, distractedly smoothing her uniform. Again.

"Sorry . . ." Sheba muttered, her face flushing slightly.

The med tech shook her head. "Don't be. I know it's difficult for you. Starbuck is Apollo's best friend . . . His name is going to come up."

"And you're mine." Sheba replied earnestly. "I should be more tactful."

"Sheba, I don't hate Starbuck. What happened between us was something I could see coming long before he ever met Luana. Sagan sakes, a blind man could have seen it with a cane." When she had decided to dedicate even more of her time to studying for her upper med tech levels, he had been resentful, not that Starbuck would ever admit it. He had viewed her commitment to her career as detracting from her commitment to him. She had tried to rationalize it psychologically, his early traumatic loss of home and family, his callous treatment at the hands of the child-care system, but in the end, she just came back to it being. . .he was Starbuck. His reaction was to make himself less available for things that she wanted them to do as a couple. It was reminiscent of a child digging in his heels when he didn't want to listen. After the mission on Alrin—when he had begged her forgiveness for kissing Luana, and had sworn he wouldn't screw up again—he had seemed distracted and dissatisfied. In reality, though, he was more attentive as a friend and lover than he had been in sectars. In fact, he had been trying so hard to make them work . . . that it was work. And all that time she knew that a certain Empyrean Princess was lurking in the back of his mind, making him wonder what might have been. "He was a bad bet. Now, my luck has changed with Mark."

Sheba smiled then. "I'm so happy for you. He's a wonderful man."

"He's a lot like your father," Cassie replied. "He'll go through Hades Hole to keep his people alive and together." She sighed, bringing them back to the present. She was somewhat comforted by the fact that Dayton was retired and wouldn't—or shouldn't—be skyrocketing off across the galaxy any time soon._ Do heroes ever really retire?_

"Cassiopeia . . ."

Both women looked up to see Med Tech Giselle hovering anxiously.

"Giselle?" Cassie asked. The two women had become good friends since working together.

"Dr. Paye is organizing a medical team for the mission planetside. He's chosen Hinnus as his med tech."

"Hinnus?" Cassie asked sharply.

"I know." Giselle replied. "It should be you, or Waheeb, or even me, but not Hinnus."

"Then why . . .?"

"Because they need med techs with neuro experience here." Giselle explained.

Cassie nodded. Yes, they wouldn't want Hinnus caring for the legendary Commander Cain post op, but where did that leave the landing party? Especially if they were injured. "I'll take care of it, Giselle."

"They're already in Alpha Bay."

"Understood." She took a deep breath, silently debating her options. Lords, but she preferred not to leave her friend at a time like this.

"I take it Hinnus isn't exactly up to the job?" Sheba asked hesitantly. She hadn't missed the inference that Paye had chosen to leave his experienced people there to look after her father. Strangely, it left her both relieved and guilt ridden. And the irony wasn't lost on her that if Apollo was hurt, then he could be the unlucky recipient of Hinnus' care. Vaguely, she recalled some stories that Starbuck had told about the med tech . . .it hadn't been pretty.

"Hinnus has come a long way, but he's inexperienced. And lacks confidence." Cassie replied, shaking her head slightly and taking Sheba's hand. "Sheba, I had every intention of being here with you until Cain . . ."

Sheba shook her head vehemently. "No. I'll be fine. You go. Remember, Apollo and Dayton are down there. Believe me, I want you there with them, more than I need you here with _me_."

Cassie blinked back the tears she felt encroaching. One of her best friends was waiting to find out if her father was going to live, die, wither or thrive. This was where she belonged. But professionally, she couldn't allow Paye to make a mistake like this. And she damn well knew why he was doing it. "I wish I could believe that."

"It's true. It's not going to matter who's sitting here with me, Cassie, what's going to happen, is going to happen." She shrugged slightly, her own eyes misting over. "Please, go."

"You shouldn't be alone," Cassie insisted.

"And she won't be."

Both women looked up to see Athena. The two rose to join the bridge officer.

"I'll stay with Sheba, Cassie," Athena told her. She smiled at her friends. "I have this watch."

Cassie nodded, embracing both her friends in turn. "I have to go."

"Cassie . . ." Sheba stopped her as she pulled away. "Tell Apollo . . ." She sniffed, then shook her head, wiping away a wayward tear.

"I will."

xxxxxxxxxx

Finally.

Jolly and Lia had safely passed by the Dynamos, and were now in a holding pattern, awaiting the launch and arrival of the attack force. Adama wasn't sure if the Lords of Kobol were watching over them—or an Empyrean Necromancer—but regardless, the threat was finally diminished. As much as he would have liked to think it was gone, he knew better. Any moment, the mysterious spheroids could come to life once more, and turn on them again. However, all passive scans indicated the Dynamos had converged on the area above the control base, and hadn't changed position in the last centar. What that meant for those on the ground, he couldn't fathom.

"Commander?" Tigh asked expectantly, awaiting orders.

They had to take that Cylon base, and gain access to its data records. They had to find out if the Cylon Empire had penetrated the galaxy further than they had ever thought. What if instead of potentially leading the Cylons to Earth, they were instead following them there?

_They had to know._

And somewhere down there was Adama's first born son. As well as Starbuck, a young man that he had come to think of as another son. Almost every person marooned on that planet as part of the initial patrol, or as a member of the subsequent rescue mission, had spent time in his personal quarters around his dining table, with the exception of Med Tech Tone. His instinct was telling him that Apollo would lead his small force to the Cylon base as well. He too would want to know the extent of the Cylon threat, and do all he could to learn its secrets, and then eradicate it.

"Yes, Colonel?" he asked, though he knew the other so well he scarcely needed to ask.

"It's time, sir."

"Launch Blue Squadron." Adama ordered, nodding. Tigh looked over at Rigel, gesturing.

"Blue Squadron, you are cleared to launch." Rigel echoed into her headset. "Repeat, Blue Squadron, you are cleared to launch."

"Commander," Athena said. "Captain Dorado is transmitting the Cylon code from the Base Star. I'm checking it against our database."

"Keep me posted." Adama returned, turning to Tigh. "We have to access those databanks, Tigh."

"Yes, sir." Tigh nodded. "In the meantime, the Hephaestus is launching her four Haulers along with a salvage team to do an initial inspection. Supervisor Thurman wasted no time getting his people organized." The Colonel added approvingly. "Silver Spar Squadron is standing by as escort. And Red Squadron is on high alert and standing by."

"Very well."

xxxxxxxxxx

A streak of blonde fury. She was coming straight for him as he prepared to board the medical team's shuttle heading for Planet 'P'. Between crash landings and attacking a Cylon base, there would likely be casualties. By the looks of Cassiopeia, he would be the first.

"Cassiopeia?" Dr. Paye asked, handing his med kit to Hinnus. The young second level med tech looked rapidly from one to the other.

"I want to be on this mission," Cassie replied briskly, as she paused at the bottom of the ramp. She was already dressed for the part, her dark pantsuit accenting her slender figure, her med kit slung over her shoulder. "I have the experience, the knowledge," she hesitated a moment, ". . . _and_ the seniority." She nodded towards Hinnus before returning a steady, icy blue gaze to Paye. "Hinnus should come for the experience, but not without a _senior_ med tech for backup."

Hinnus hesitated uncertainly, his burly frame filling the shuttle's hatch. Paye let out a deep sigh, then motioned for him to continue. The med tech nodded and disappeared within.

"That," she continued, crossing her arms, "is in the regulation book." Paye said nothing. "Specifically, Fleet Medical Regulations, Article Sixty-Six, Paragraph A. I quote: When entering potentially hostile territory where contact with military ground personnel has been lost, the senior med tech available shall, at the discretion of the . . ."

"You're on a rest period, Cassiopeia," he interrupted her, remembering the good old days when everything the physician in charge said dictated what happened next. Med techs used to rise when they entered the room, and never questioned their authority. They certainly never challenged them. Now admittedly, he hadn't seen her take this tack before, but it was a little disconcerting that one of his best med techs was willing to get in his face and throw the manual at him. Salik, on the other hand, would probably get a kick out of it. Lords, the Chief Medical Officer probably encouraged it. "Besides, I recall you specifically requesting _not_ to be assigned to caring for Lieutenant Starbuck unless absolutely necessary," Paye replied, even though his first inclination was to let her come. But he didn't have to make it easy for her. Hinnus was a hard worker, but needed too much guidance to be useful in a crisis. "If you recall, Starbuck is on this mission."

"I thought that was it," Cassie replied, her gaze not wavering. "You _need_ me down there. Plain and simple."

"Med Tech Tone is down there."

"You don't know his condition, or anyone else's for that matter. We lost contact with the rescue team yesterday," Cassie responded, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. "If Tone's all right, he could be exhausted, injured himself, or out of medical supplies. After all, he went down there to save Starbuck, and that's enough to . . ." she blew out a short breath, letting her quip die a natural death, before getting back to the matter at hand. "We're about to attack. We could lose warriors. Blue Squadron hasn't launched a ground assault mission as a cohesive unit in a very long time. As pilots they're unbeatable, but as ground troops . . . And the warriors with the most recent field experience are already down there."

Paye chewed his lip a moment. One of the disadvantages of having a med tech who had spent over a yahren whispering sweet nothings into that particular Colonial Warrior's ear, was that she probably knew a lot more about those details than Paye did. "Let's be honest. You're personally involved with Commander Dayton, Starbuck is your ex, and the woman who stole him from you is down there as well. Frankly, I can't see how you can maintain your objectivity in the field." On the other hand, he wasn't sure it mattered if people needed medical attention.

A twitch at the corner of her mouth, a slight narrowing of her eyes. "Gamoray. Paradeen. Alrin."

She had been exceptional during each assignment, most notably when she wielded a laser and watched over Bojay during the assault on Gamoray, and when she had kept Starbuck alive on the return trip from Alrin. Paye curtly nodded, and stood aside to let her pass. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank-you, Doctor," she replied, and brushed past him.

"But . . ." Paye called up after her, the ambiguity in his tone apparent, "I hope I don't end up regretting this."

xxxxxxxxxx

Okay, maybe he was a _little_ sensitive, but Starbuck couldn't just stand there in his cell waiting for the Cylons to walk in and point their weapons at him. Lords, he hated this plan. Sure, it was true that inevitably the centurions would investigate the Brig, when their investigation of the shots revealed three destroyed Cylons, a missing IL, and a missing Human. All the same, he'd rather be scouring the tunnels searching for their enemies, than standing there like live, delectable bait, while Apollo balanced on an outcropping of the cave wall above them like . . . like _Crawlon Man_, only missing his lycron suit and hood . . . Actually, if he stared long and hard enough . . . it did appear that Apollo had somehow found the costume and squeezed into it. He didn't look half bad either as a Superhero . . . but that couldn't be . . . could it? Starbuck blinked his eyes a few times and the red and blue lycron faded back into Colonial beige. Just imagining things, Bucko. In the captain's hands, the Cylon pulse rifle was poised to take out any or all that entered. And the web shooters at either wrist would be a decent secondary weapons system . . . uh . . . Other than _Crawlon Man_, Malus was the only other not in a cell. He waited enticingly within view of the Brig door, a Cylon weapon in his hand—one that had been emptied of its charge—and pointing it as though he was guarding the prisoners. Starbuck shuffled from foot to foot, running both hands through his hair, now damp with sweat, and letting out a long, tortuous breath. The throbbing in his head had settled to a dull ache now, thankfully. And the more he exhaled, the better it felt. Irritatingly, exhaling couldn't be done without inhaling—which in turn worsened the pain—but he'd figure out a way around that eventually . . . Luana glanced at him sympathetically from the back of the cell. Dayton ignored him.

"Give me the gun." Starbuck nudged the Earthman beside him. Moving, talking, rambling, it all took his mind off the uncomfortable lightness of his holster. And that conspicuous weightlessness seemed irrevocably linked to the ache in his skull. He needed to counteract the imbalance, and then he'd be fine. Dayton's old-fashioned weapon was wedged in his waistline at the small of his back, much like everybody else who was armed. Out of sight, but within reach. At least if Starbuck had a weapon he wouldn't feel so vulnerable . . . and his head would feel better.

"No." Sharp and concise, brooking no argument.

So he argued. "C'mon, give me the gun, Dayton. I'm a warrior! I need a weapon."

"Forget it. You have a head injury, kid."

"I have a head injury?" Starbuck sniffed. Dayton's features seemed to blur for a moment . . . which couldn't help the Earthman's aim. It was plain who should be wielding the weapon. "Well, at least I can see, old man."

"I didn't have any trouble shooting those Cylons."

"Point blank range, the way I heard it." Starbuck reminded him.

"Vicious propaganda," smirked Dayton. "But right now in your state, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. If you were inside it!"

"Stop it, you two!" Luana inserted, stepping between them. "Starbuck, behave yourself. Dayton's right. You shouldn't be armed if you can barely stand upright."

"Barely stand upright? I'm fine." He argued, not knowing what she was talking about. The bars of the cell jumped out and poked him in the arm. He glared at them and, obviously intimidated, they slowly retreated. He smiled triumphantly. "There. Feeling better by the micron."

"Really? Then let's try a little test of your reflexes." Lu smiled slightly, her chin ever so slightly tilted so they were eye to eye. They could hear Tone snort in amusement from the next cell.

Someone muttered, "You show him, Luana."

The lieutenant hesitated, looking at her suspiciously. . . wondering why she took a sudden deke to his left . . . and then back again. "What kind of test?"

Luana reached beneath her neckline, pulling out a leather cord with her Empyrean Talisman on the end of it. She pulled it over her head, gripping the cord in a loose fist and dangling the silver amulet before her man's eyes. It was circular in design with the elongated shape of an eye within. A long, thin brow extended over the eye and a pupil was centred at its crest, making the eye appear to be looking up towards the heavens.

Dayton grinned. "The hot shot pilot versus the mighty huntress. Now this I have to see."

"What's the bet?" Starbuck asked, as she began to gently swing the amulet like a pendulum. He let his eye follow the arc, not the talisman, letting his mind focus on where it would be in the next milli-centon, rather than where it was currently. It was like manually eying up for a shot without the attack computer. The key was to think ahead to where the target would end up. He had played this game endlessly in the sims, as well as used it in action a time or two when his attack computer had malfunctioned. But for some reason, his vision was blurring and the path of the talisman began to look like one solid piece of metal. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, and looked again. That's better . . .

"You get one chance. If you get possession of the talisman, you can have _my _weapon. She patted the Cylon laser that Apollo had given her. "If not, you concede defeat and behave yourself." Lu studied him for a long moment. "Do you accept?"

"Always." Starbuck smiled, his right hand resting casually at his side, as though preparing to reach for the laser that wasn't there. He met her eyes for a moment, seeing equal parts of concern, challenge, and mischief. He chuckled quietly, as the corners of her eyes and mouth crinkled with shared amusement.

Then he moved.

His foot hooked behind her leg, upsetting her balance, as his right arm reached behind her waist, catching her as she fell backwards, and then pulling her against him, trapping the talisman between them. She shrieked with surprise, then laughed as she scrambled to regain her footing, while he pivoted and . . . his vision abruptly filled with a starscape so vast and sparkly that it made him light-headed with wonder at its sudden appearance in a Cylon Brig. Maybe _Crawlon Man_ would be able to explain it to him.

They both tumbled to the ground.

"Starbuck?" Luana asked, all joviality gone from her tone, as she looked at him.

"Do I get some kind of bonus for snagging both you and the talisman?" Starbuck asked, trying to cover for the miscalculation as he blinked furiously to clear his vision.

"Shh!" Crawlon Man hushed them from above.

Luana scrambled to her feet, joining a grey-haired guy at the front of the cell in a blur of light, coming to a complete and sudden stop. It was reminiscent of _Crawlon Man'_s occasional sidekick, _Rara Avis_. Actually . . . the more intently he looked at her, the clearer it became to him . . .she was _Rara Avis_! But where did Lu go . . . and who was the grey-haired guy? He peered more closely as the grey eyes studied him. Iceman? Starbuck sat up, the starscape again intruding on his vision. Then he realized it wasn't so much a starscape as tiny particles of ice all around him. It had to be the Iceman!

"Commander-Malus," said a voice. Not _quite _like the voice of Matron back at the orphanage after her throat surgery, but close.

"I have everything under control. The prisoner is back in his cell," Malus announced. "I want two of you guarding them until I say otherwise. You two, bring the old man, and I will deal with him appropriately."

"By-your-command." The drone of a Cylon. _Okay. Maybe not Matron_.

Starbuck gripped a bar, pulling himself up with far more effort than it should have taken. Abruptly, his head exploded with the sound of heavy duty artillery. The Brig pitched violently to the right and he was thrown to the ground. Strangely, when he blinked open his eyes again, _Iceman_ and _Rara Avis_ were still standing.

"You okay, kid?" _Iceman_ asked.

"Where's your hoverboard?" Starbuck asked.

"Hoverboard?" The Iceman looked over his shoulder.

"Yeah," said Starbuck, then smiled, for a moment lost in nostalgia. "I always wanted to ride on it. Maybe I could borrow it and take Rara Avis for a ride?"

"Something's wrong here."

"Oh, ya think?" said another voice. "No shit, Sherlock!"

Starbuck blinked again, to see _Crawlon Man_ leaning over him. The hood was tattered, revealing the man behind the mask. Unbelievably, he looked a lot like Apollo. Starbuck reached up to touch the tattered lycron, and was amazed that it felt so much like. . . like hair. He gave it a little tug, and _Crawlon Man_ grabbed his hand. "Weird. I thought lycron was indestructible."

"Lycron?" the Superhero asked him. Then _Crawlon Man_ looked up at _Rara Avis_ and _Iceman_, who were hovering over his shoulders. Really hovering. It was incredible. Starbuck wished he could figure out how they did that. Oh, right. Superpowers. Or maybe the Iceman found his hoverboard. Then _Crawlon Man_ hollered, "Tone!"

"Not so loud . . ." Starbuck winced. "Couldn't you use your multi-modal signalling, _Crawlon Man_?" A scrawny fellow who was most definitely _not_ Superhero material leaned over him, palpating his head and neck. He just didn't fit in. "Hey!" Starbuck objected when the geek hit a tender spot at the back of his skull. "Who the frack are you?" Thankfully, the Shadow suddenly arrived on the scene to maintain continuity. The warrior nodded at the most recent arrival, marvelling at how the dark hero faded in and out of their dimension. "You're my favourite."

The scrawny guy called out, "Starbuck's delusional. We'd better find my med kit. I need my biomonitor."

"I'm delusional?" Starbuck repeated incredulously. "You've got bigger problems than me, pal. You're the only geek in a room full of Superheroes."

xxxxxxxxxx

Reece sighed. Surveillance was boring; there was no getting away from it. But he was on strict orders handed down from Perseus, a newly elected member of Council, to monitor and record anything and everything happening in Dr. Cordis' office. The man was the apparent victim of extortion, and they had been assigned to find the evidence. That translated into secreting away a few transceivers and vid-cams, and then sitting in a closet nearby, and recording and listening to everything that transpired. Oh, the exciting life of a security officer!

The door cracked open a smidge, and Willem walked in, hastily closing it behind him. Reece nudged the headset aside, accepting the java his partner handed him.

"Anything?" Willem asked.

"Lords, sometimes I think we have it tough, but I couldn't imagine sitting in an office all day, listening to people lying on a longseat, whimpering about their personal problems." Reece replied with a grimace, nodding his thanks as he gulped down the hot java. "I'd rather focus on catching the slime bags of society, then listen to all the so-called normal people complain about their wives and husbands."

"Can't complain about what you don't have." Willem pointed out sardonically, finding a vantage point where he could see the multi-angled vid-feed that showed the office. The unseated Councilman, Sire Uri, had just entered and was holding a datapad in his hand, indicating it with a look of disgust on his features.

"Oh, thanks for pointing that out." Reece returned sourly. "You're all heart. If I wasn't working these long shifts, then I might have time to . . ."

"Want me to find you a longseat, and send you across the hall to the Doctor, Reece?" Will returned with a wry grin.

"Oh, you're sharp today," Reece replied, with a short laugh of amusement. He held up a finger, grabbing the other headset and handing it to his partner. "This might be it."

"Cordis, I read your report on Captain Dickins, and I'm far from pleased." Uri was saying.

"It's the truth, Sire Uri. That's my job. To report the truth."

"The truth is entirely subjective, Doctor," Uri replied, a threatening edge coming into his voice. "But once recorded as fact, it takes on a new complexion."

"Perhaps that's the point, Sire Uri. I've submitted my report recommending that Captain Dickins see me for continued treatment, but also recognizing that he's not a risk to anyone but himself. The man shows contrition for his actions, and is willing to participate in the therapy that will see him through this difficult time."

"And who will see you through yours, Cordis?" Uri sneered.

"I've done nothing wrong, Uri."

"I warned you!" Uri snapped. "Your career is over, Doctor." His expression changed to a cruel smile. "As is your marriage."

"I've done nothing wrong," Cordis repeated calmly. "My wife loves and respects me. She won't believe your accusations, _or_ your lies, Uri. She'll see them for what they truly are. Complete fabrications and utter felgercarb."

"I have witnesses. Willing to swear to your . . . activities."

"_Which_ activities?" Cordis asked, as though he was hearing it all again for the first time.

"Your sexual conquests of your helpless female patients undergoing hypnotherapy." Uri returned haughtily. "As we speak, your former patients are filing their complaints with the Chief Opposer. Absolutely disgusting, having intercourse with those you are entrusted to treat psychologically."

"You didn't do your research very well, Sire Uri." Cordis replied grimly. "I might have been ashamed to admit it before, but if my pride has to be the victim of your malignant scheming, then better it be that than my marriage. I've been impotent for over three yahrens, Uri. An unfortunate complication of surgery and radion treatments which saved my life on Virgon, before we began this journey. A medical examination would reveal the same."

Willem adjusted the vid-cam, zooming in on Uri's look of surprise, and then outrage.

"You think you've won, don't you?" Uri sneered, barely able to keep his composure.

"I never considered this to be about winning or losing. Only about right and wrong." Cordis returned.

"Who in Hades Hole do you think you are? You. . .son of a cur! You. . ."

"I'm a man of integrity, Uri. What are you?"

"That's our cue." Reece pulled off his headset, and reached for the door.

"Let's take him in." Willem agreed.

xxxxxxxxxx

The air was stale, but still it was nice to be able to breathe again without the benefit of the spacesuit. All the same, Bojay kept a life mask firmly in his grip as he stepped through the hatch into the chamber that housed the Base Star's main lightspeed drive reactors, with Brie on his heels. The ship was littered with dead centurions, and it was more than a little eerie to walk through this Cylon graveyard, of sorts. Then again, he supposed it was preferable to boarding one with_ live_ Cylons, as Apollo and Starbuck had done. Those two had to be leading some kind of charmed existence to have returned from what was essentially a suicide mission. He grinned.

_What a rush that must have been._

"Are you there, Bojay? What did you find?"

The voice seemed extremely loud over the small headset he was wearing. He adjusted it slightly before replying, "We're only just there, Dr. Wilker. Give us a centon."

"How does it look?" the scientist pressed. "Can you activate your suit camera?"

Brie glanced at the captain when instead of answering he moved towards the Control Centre, dragging two fried centurions out of the way, with not a little effort, before looking over the circuit board. "The control panel is dark," she said.

"Okay, I have your visual. You should be able to restart the system," Wilker informed them.

Brie moved over beside Bojay, shaking her head at the unfamiliar controls. "We should?"

Bojay reached past her, trying to push up a large switch, which made his Viper's toggles look state of the art. "Frack," he muttered, using both arms to grab the thick handle, and getting himself under it. Occasionally, a guy forgot that their Cylon counterparts were significantly stronger then all but the most powerful Humans. Gritting his teeth and groaning with the exertion, he forced it upwards, the groan from the assembly even louder than his own, until it clicked into place.

"A little stiff?" Brie asked.

"Yeah. I guess after hundreds of centi-yahrens, it's overdue for some maintenance." Bojay replied.

"Or maybe we should wait for the lubrication to warm up?" she teased.

"Since I'm a gentleman, I won't touch that one . . ."Bojay chuckled, reflexively ducking as she made to smack him. He chuckled, and wiped off his hands on his pants, gripping the switch again. Then with a sharp jerk downward and an explosive, "Aarrgghh!", it ground its way into place.

Nothing happened.

"Well?" Wilker interrupted. "What happened? Did you pull the lever?"

"I think I pulled a muscle," Bojay returned sourly, looking at the dead panel. "That's about it."

"Were the reactors disengaged automatically, I wonder?" Wilker pondered from his end.

"You mean as a safety measure? Emergency shut down?" Bojay asked as he started walking through the cluster of enormous reactors that towered above him. It made sense. Colonial ships had emergency shut-down systems built into their engines, in case of fire or loss of fuel pressure. It seemed likely the Cylons would have the same. He paused beside one reactor housing, noticing a slight wave in the metal casing at its base. "Hey, now this is interesting. The casing on this reactor is distorted. Almost like there was some kind of reaction inside that heated it up beyond its endurance."

"Like a fusion reaction?" Brie quipped.

"Funny." Bojay returned.

"Interesting. Now if that was the case, and it shut down automatically, it might require a security access code to reengage it." Wilker replied over the comm. "Captain Dorado? Anything on your end?"

Dorado and Cree had moved on from contacting the _Galactica_ to trying to locate the source of the explosion from within the Base Ship. Thankfully, at least Wilker had been able to get them a schematic from the Control Centre's databanks without the annoyingly elusive codes that would give them access to the main memory banks.

"I'm going to take an educated guess and say that one of the energizers blew," Dorado reported. "We had to go down four decks, because everything above us for a hundred cubic metrons is one big melted blob of tylinium, and the blast doors are sealed up tighter than an Otori . . . uh, never mind. Regardless, we're not going to get anywhere near the actual site of the explosion, without a full crew equipped with cutting torches. It's impassable. According to the schematics, the main storage tanks that feed the tylinium energizers are up there."

"But the fire was contained?" Brie asked.

"You saw the explosion, Brie, " Bojay pointed out. "It was opened up to the vacuum of space. It probably smothered."

"But, what could cause the energizer to blow, and the fusion reactors to shut down? Not to mention the life support and computer networks to die?" Brie asked.

"About the only thing I can think of is a solar storm," Dr. Wilker replied.

"Massive EMP?" asked Dorado.

"Yes, an electromagnetic pulse." The scientist repeated the phrase almost liltingly like an artist regaling them with a story. "I'm beginning to think so. If they dropped out of lightspeed too close to the sun, or possibly a solar flare, it could have overwhelmed most of her electrical systems, along with the internal power nodes in the centurions."

"And an energizer basically blew itself to Hades hole?" asked Rooke.

"Yes, precisely," said Wilker. "And if the fuel flow to the energizer didn't cut out quickly enough . . ."

"A whole bunker could have ruptured," said Cree. "Holy frack."

"And that explains why the blast doors slammed shut, and why no one tried to fix anything," continued Dorado. "If all the crew was wiped out, she just kept drifting until her auxiliary power drained away."

"Dorado," said Wilker, "if you ever get tired of flying a Viper, see me in my lab. Very good."

"Oh, I get tired. But never of flying." The warrior replied lightly.

"There!" Wilker exclaimed out of the blue.

"Where?" asked Rooke.

"The solar cells. They're back on-line." Sure enough, on indicators both in the Control Centre and on the engineering deck, the power levels were rising. All around them, screens and gauges in the engine room were slowly coming to life. They were at present closer to this sun than Caprica was to hers, so the energy falling on the hull was considerable.

"How did you do it?" asked Brie. "I thought it needed a code."

"It did. According to the _Galactica_'s recorded data, Abaddon class ships generally used twelve digit numerical codes. I connected my datapad to the computer, and worked out an algorithm whereby it chronologically began inputting possible numerical combinations. After all, these data pads weren't around hundreds of yahrens ago, so the system wouldn't be safe guarding against such an approach. I took a chance, and after . . . " He paused. "Well, after too many attempts to mention, we were successful."

"Nice work, Dr. Wilker," said Bojay.

"What about accessing the databanks?" Dorado asked.

"I'm working on it, Captain." Wilker replied.

Bojay looked around the engineering deck, and scanned. To their right, a huge cable trunk hung loose, with a connector on one end. At his direction, Brie helped him pick it up, and re-inserted it into a socket on a huge bank of instruments. At once, they began to feel a faint thrum under their feet, and more screens came to life.

"By the Lords," said Wilker. Around him, more consoles returned to functionality, including many of the ship's internal and external cameras. "Bojay, I can see you on internal sensors."

"Good. What are you reading?"

"Power levels rising. Up to. . . fourteen percent and rising. I'm getting a flashing light on one of the intermix chambers there."

"The switch I threw," said Bojay. "It looks like a reactor valve control."

"Can you zoom in on it?"

"Sure." Bojay positioned himself to give Wilker a clear view. On the scientist's cue, Bojay pressed a few of the buttons on the console in front of him, hopefully in sequence. At first, one of the reactors—the one with the distorted casing—began to hum. Then, after a few microns, it spewed sparks from a gap in the casing. Bojay and Brie jumped back, but it immediately sputtered out and died.

"Well, that didn't go so well." Brie frowned, rubbing her crossed arms up and down, her eyes wide.

"Try the next one," said Wilker.

"We can hardly wait," Bojay muttered, squeezing Brie's shoulder before beginning again. After a few moments of thumping noises, the chamber next to the damaged one began to hum, the indicators on its surface coming back to life.

"Very good," said Wilker. "Ship's power now at . . .thirty-five percent and rising."

"We may be able to get this old bucket moving again after all," said Brie.

"Hope so," said Dorado. "Doctor Wilker, can we contact the _Galactica__ and belay the request for the Haulers_?"

Then abruptly the Abaddon class ship shuddered, and a groan echoed throughout its confines, the eerie lament unsettling everyone aboard.

"Perhaps not quite yet."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Adama."

The commander turned from where he was watching the computers trying to decrypt the Cylon code, successive series of algorithms pouring across the screen. Tigh's voice was low, and his lips were twisted in displeasure. "Tigh?"

"We just heard from the Alpha Bay, Sir. Chief Warrant Officer Jenny reported that a Council Shuttle landed carrying Councilwoman Ama, Chameleon, and three of the Earthmen. Ama told Jenny that they were there to join the mission, with your permission, sir."

"I see," Adama replied, glancing at his chrono. The attack force and medical shuttle had already launched, not five centons ago. Though the thought of Ama hijacking a Viper should take him by surprise, oddly it didn't. He could almost picture the Necromancer shooting through the stars in the most sophisticated fighter known to man. Almost. "Where are they now?"

"Launch Bay Alpha."

"Have Councilwoman Ama . . ." Adama sniffed, wondering just who he should assign to the task of telling Ama that she should go anywhere that she didn't want to. "Never mind. I'll speak with her myself."

"Thank you, Commander." Tigh nodded in apparent relief. Yet another intelligent and sophisticated man that the necromancer had managed to intimidate.

"Commander," said Omega. "A message from Doctor Wilker. On a Cylon frequency!"

"A Cy. . .he's done it! He's done it, Tigh."

"She's up and running."

"Yes. Reply channel, Omega."

xxxxxxxxxx

"There they are," Dietra murmured, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over her as she visually spotted the Dynamos from her Viper. "Wait a centon. What are they doing?"

Their ambient glow seemed to be intensifying, as they stood out against the starscape, and the enormous helix they formed was easily visible to the naked eye.

"I'm reading some kind of radion emissions from those babies, Dietra. Same weird wavelon as before. What do we do?" Giles asked. "I thought they were supposed to be dormant."

"We rendezvous with Jolly and Lia, Giles, as ordered," she replied calmly. "We're in range of the Dynamos, yet we're still in one piece."

"I for one would kind of like to keep it that way, Dee," Giles replied.

"Whatever they're doing, they don't seem that interested in us," Greenbean suggested. "At least for the moment."

"Well, from the coordinates that the Bridge gave us, that helix is directly over the location where the earlier energy wavelons were detected." Giles inserted, checking his passive scanner. "I have a strong feeling that whatever those things are doing, they're going to be doing it right where we're planning to be."

"Then I suggest we get a move on, Giles," Dietra replied, the tension in her voice audible. "Blue Squadron, I have a visual on Jolly and Lia. Varick, you hang back and escort the medical shuttle down."

"Aye, Lieutenant."

"Remember, we don't know what kind of resistance we're going to find down there. Raiders, anti-spacecraft artillery . . . stay alert." Dietra ordered as they joined the others. "Lieutenant Jolly, Blue Squadron reporting as ordered."

"A bit tardy, if you ask me," Jolly replied, his light tone covering his impatience. "Once we clear the atmosphere, we'll move to active scanners and see what we're up against. Wingmen, form on your leaders. Let's go find our Skipper."

xxxxxxxxxx

"As near as I can figure, he's having some kind of delayed reaction from that toxic cocktail that the Cylons hit us with, which is intensified by his head injury," Tone said aside to Apollo, metrons away from where Starbuck was propped up against a cell wall. Luana, Dayton and Baker were keeping him company.

"Who are you?" Starbuck was asking Baker. "Are you related to the Iceman?" The lieutenant looked from one to the other in bemusement.

"Yeah. Good guess," Baker replied with a grin, patting his short, stubbly, grey hair. "I'm Frosty the Snowman."

"Frosty the . . .?" Starbuck shrugged. "I don't think I've heard tell of you. What's your superpower?"

"I can see through snowdrifts with my two eyes made out of coal, and I come to life every time someone sings my theme song."

"I thought it had something to do with an old felt hat?" Dayton inserted.

"Oh, that old thing." Baker shrugged. "I leant it to Jimmy Durante."

"Is he a superhero too?" Starbuck asked, his eyes unnaturally bright and wide.

"Absolutely!" Dayton grinned. "We call him the Schnoz."

Apollo blinked, then slightly shook his head. This could only happen to Starbuck. "So, it's principally because of the head injury? The rest of us aren't going to start hallucinating, are we?"

"Hey, my biomonitor is broken. Those damned Cylons took it apart, so this is all based on conjecture . . . and what I know for sure. Even with a concussion, which I'm sure Starbuck has, he shouldn't be hallucinating to this extent. He should be puking his guts out, and curled in a ball of misery, not asking Dayton if he can borrow his hoverboard to take Luana for a ride," Tone returned, once again, letting the pile of electronic parts sift through his fingers. He hadn't been impressed when Malus had given him the pack that held his equipment, to find that anything useful or electronic inside had been taken apart.

"I've seen a few concussions in the field, Tone. This, I haven't seen." Apollo pointed at his friend who was climbing shakily to his feet and weaving towards Boomer. The disoriented man held his hand up in front of the lieutenant, reaching for something that wasn't there. Then Starbuck smiled in delight, staring into the empty palm of his hand like a child who had just found an unexpected prize. It was getting worse. "It's like he's on some kind of illicit narcotic. He's whacked out."

"I don't want to give him anything, Captain." Tone looked morosely at his dysfunctional hypospray, also disassembled by the Cylons. "Not knowing what he has in his bloodstream already, I could make it worse, before I make it better. It's going to have to clear of its own accord."

"Well, isn't there anything you can do?" asked Boomer.

"Pray for a med team." He returned sardonically. "The only thing I can think of in our situation is to get him to drink as much water as possible. Hopefully, that will flush it out of his system."

"I could help, Captain." Malus spoke up. "We do have a lab, and we could analyse Starbuck's blood. But I'm certain that you want to eradicate the other six centurions first."

"Can't you just order them not to shoot us?" asked Baker.

"I'm afraid that shooting you is part of their basic programming. It's as instinctive to the centurion class, as using insults seems to be to Commander Dayton," replied Malus lingering nearby, watching the perplexing behaviour of the lieutenant. "This is rather fascinating. I am wondering if those red marks that the rest of you have on your exposed flesh have anything to do with Starbuck's different behaviour? He doesn't seem similarly afflicted."

Apollo scratched at an insecton bite in reaction.

Tone frowned, considering the idea. "Something in the insecton's saliva that somehow protects the rest of us against the hallucinogenic effect of the toxin?"

"We would have to molecularly analyse the effect of that particular insecton saliva on the neurotoxin." Malus mused, his lights twinkling. "Which would necessitate us capturing some specimens."

"But Luana wasn't bitten, was she? So, she should be hallucinating too." Apollo replied, looking over to the young woman who was watching Starbuck with evident concern. "Lu? Did you get any bites last night? Any at all?"

"One or two," she shrugged, scratching a spot on her neck. "Not as bad as the rest of you. Why?"

"Just a theory," Tone replied, looking critically at the IL. "We'll figure it out."

"If we capture some of the insectons." Malus added. "Perhaps, I could assign a couple centurions to the task before you destroy them."

Apollo sighed, trying to imagine Cylons out there, traipsing through the tall grasses, attempting to capture tiny, winged insectons. If it wasn't ludicrous, it would be funny. He signalled Dayton to come over.

"What's up?" Dayton asked, glancing back at Starbuck. "Can you fix him?"

"No." Tone shook his head, indicating his destroyed medical supplies. "My gear is ruined. I don't want to take the chance on giving him something that would just make it worse."

"So what are we going to do with him? According to the kid, he just found a web shooter, and he can hardly wait to try it out, and swing his way through the cavern." Dayton told them. "Someone has to watch him."

"I was hoping you'd offer." Apollo grinned, slapping the Earthman on the shoulder. "If you and . . . Frosty, over there, could watch Starbuck, then Boomer, Luana and I could secure this base with Malus' help."

"What about the 'geek'?" Dayton grinned, as Tone scowled at him.

"I'd prefer that Tone stayed with Starbuck, in case he _does_ get worse," Apollo replied.

"How the Hell are we going to keep him busy?" Dayton groaned. "He's going to want to go on the mission."

"Tell him you're considering recruiting him." Apollo replied with a faint grin. "That he might just make a decent superhero."

Dayton snorted. "You can tell who has the child around here."

"Well, right now, you do." Apollo returned wryly, slinging the pulse rifle over his shoulder. "Boomer. Luana. Malus. Let's go!"

"Wait a centon!" Starbuck replied, lurching towards Apollo. "What about me, Crawlon Man? I want to help!"

"Kid. We have to level with you." Dayton gripped him by the arm as he tried to approach the captain. "We're considering letting you join the Halls of Justice, to become a superhero. Frosty the Snowman and I are going to put you through the rudiments of superhero training, to see if you have what it takes. Superman and the Fantastic Four are out on a mission with Santa Claus, so it's just us. But we'll do 'em proud. Just you watch."

"Who?" The warrior's brow wrinkled in bemusement. "Santa . . ."

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of . . ." Dayton turned to Baker. "Better make note of that Frosty."

"Got it, Iceman." Baker nodded solemnly, then looked sympathetically at Starbuck.

"Now, now. Let's not be too hasty. I'm a quick study." Starbuck assured them. "On a mission, huh? Sounds fabulous. What sort?"

"Uh. . .well, apparently . . . the Grinch stole Christmas. He's hidden it somewhere in the cavern. They'll fill us in later."

Starbuck grinned joyously. "Really?" Then his smile slipped as he turned to consider first Dayton and then Baker. "But . . . who would I be? I need a persona. And a superpower."

"Well, it's as obvious to me as the smile on your face, kid." Dayton returned, glancing back at Frosty. Baker chuckled, nodding at the other. "You'll be the Faceman." He handed Starbuck a large canteen of water. "Now drink this. Every last drop. And you'll get your superpower."

"Really? That's the plan?" The warrior nodded eagerly, tilting the canteen back to gulp down the contents.

"Yeah. And kid," Dayton smiled, putting an arm around the Viper pilot, "I love it when a plan comes together."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Starbuck put down the canteen, considering how curious it was that a mystical potion that would reveal his superpower tasted very much like . . . water. Still, he could feel a tingling in his body, and a strange pulsing at the back of his skull, so it must be doing _something_. He took a deep breath, and waited for the miraculous transformation that one of his all-time favourite heroes had promised him How amazing was this? The Iceman and Frosty the Snowman were putting him through a series of Superhero tryouts. He—a nobody from an orphanage—was going to join the greatest ranks of superheroes that the Colonies had ever seen.

Iceman peered at him closely, suddenly frowning and putting a hand to his forehead. "He's burning up, Tone."

"Does that mean it's working?" Starbuck asked hopefully, brushing aside the hand, and once again wiping at a trail of sweat. Even with the sparkling, mystical field of ice crystals dancing in the air, it was damn hot in there.

"I know." The geek replied. "It's part of the delirium."

"What delirium?" Starbuck asked the annoying little man. "What are you talking about? And where's the musical flourish? There's always a musical flourish when the hero transforms, isn't there?"

"You're delirious, Lieutenant." The geek replied, shaking his head slightly and glancing at the Iceman.

"No, I'm not. I'm the Faceman." Starbuck replied indignantly. "I'm not changing to Lieutenant Delirious. Not for all the superpowers in the Twelve Worlds, pal." He glanced at the Iceman, making sure he wasn't in on this attempt to give him a lame title in the . . . Halls of Justice. "Right, Iceman?"

"Right, Faceman." Iceman reassured him, squeezing his shoulder. "Uhh. . . I think. . ."

"You don't think it could be the evil spells of _Skeletor _or even _Q _that are holding things up, do you?" asked Frosty, his face twisting and contorting. One moment he looked as if he would burst out laughing, and the next, as though he had sucked on a citrum. He coughed and then looked away, turning his body in the other direction.

"I don't know," replied the _Iceman. _"We. . .might need help."

"Help?" said Starbuck, sweating more now, and pulling at his collar in discomfort. Lords, if Iceman got any closer to him, he'd turn into Slushman.

"Yeah."

"Who? Who's gonna help?"

"Well, kid," said _Iceman_, leaning close, "don't tell anyone, but we may have to call in the heavy guns. Maybe even _B.A. _You know. . .the _BA._"

"The _BA_? Sounds like a heaffy hitter," said Starbuck, his words now beginning to slur. "The _BA_."

"Oh yeah. Now if we can just get him here, and pull. . ._Lord Murdock of the Tra Zi Done_ out of the asteroid field, then we'll have it made."

"Asteroid field?" said Starbuck, looking around in confusion. "What fasteroid eeled? Will the Shadow bring him in?"

"He's getting worse, Dayton." The geek spoke up.

"Uh, here, kid," replied the Iceman_,_ "more . . .magic potion." He gave Starbuck another drink from his kit, shaking his head at the slight sloshing that indicated it was almost gone. Frosty handed him another. "Drink it up. Every drop."

"Wait a centon," mumbled Starbuck, running a hand down his face, and licking his lips. He handed back the empty canteen. "Weren't there Thylonths? I mean, Cylons."

"You'll pound 'em into the ground, kid," said Frosty.

"Not likely, in his condition." The geek disagreed.

"Play along, Tone." The Iceman returned.

"I was trained to reorient people who were delirious, not _encourage_ them. This goes against everything I believe in."

Starbuck could feel an overwhelming urge to shove the canteen down the scrawny guy's throat. "What's your problem, pal?" He grabbed the other's tunic with both fists, shaking his head in disgust that the little man weighed little more than the canteen. He pushed him away, and the other landed in a heap on the ground. "What the frack . . ." He startled, looking at his hands. "I . . . uh . . . didn't mean to . . ."

"Eureka!" Iceman called out with a grin, as he extended a hand to help the geek up. "It worked!"

"It's the delirium," the geek was burbling nonsensically. "The rush of adrenaline often gives you almost superhuman . . ."

Starbuck turned to the Iceman, ignoring the little twerp. "Is that my . . . my superpower? I'm stronger?"

"Why don't you try bending the cell bar?" The geek suggested with a sniff, with a strange smile on his sallow face.

It kind of made Starbuck want to bend the cell bar around his neck. Maybe tie a little bow there. He grinned at the mental image.

"Uh . . . maybe for a first time, he should try something a little easier . . ." Iceman countered, his smile appearing forced.

"No, I'm up for it!" Starbuck assured him, gripping the crossbar closest to him, which was firmly inset into the stone wall. "They don't call me the Faceman for nothing. . . uh . . ." He raised a brow and looked at them for a moment. "What does being strong have to do with being called the Faceman?"

"Face it, man . . ." Frosty began, then hesitated. He turned to the Iceman. "You field this one, Dayton."

"You have the . . .uh . . . strength . . . to face anything." Iceman stuttered.

"It's a little weak." Frosty shrugged, crossing his arms and evidently waiting for something better. Starbuck nodded his agreement.

Iceman frowned, and then continued. "And . . . when you turn on that famous Faceman smile, well, your powers increase exponentially. Your smile acts as a . . . a . . . an abracadabra." Iceman grinned.

"Abra . . .?" Starbuck mumbled.

"Cadabra." Frosty finished, nodding sagely. "Don't tell me you've never heard of an abracadabra? I'd better make note of that."

The warrior looked at them quizzically. Another mark against him. This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. "I don't think so . . ."

"It's the trigger that boosts your strength, kid." The Iceman put an arm around Starbuck. "You turn up that Faceman grin to full throttle, kid, and you could probably tear this place apart

. . . if that's what we were going for . . ." Frosty was really frowning now at his cohort now. "Uh . . . which it's not . . . not really." Iceman sighed. "Where the hell did I leave my hoverboard? As soon as I find it, I'm launching myself right into the back of Crawlon Man's knees and taking him for a ride that he'll never forget."

Starbuck blinked. He just didn't understand. He was sure he would catch on eventually, and he'd rather stumble along in the dark rather than admit that he couldn't grasp Iceman's explanation of his superpowers. He gripped the bar, gave it his best triumphant grin—the one he reserved for winning at pyramid and irritating Black Shirts—and jerked the bar towards him. The stone crumbled, as he pulled the bar free.

"Holy crap . . ." Frosty muttered, his mouth hanging open for a long moment. "Not bad, kid."

Starbuck grinned in triumph . . . which oddly enough was the same grin that he had used on the bars. Lords, he was probably even stronger now! He felt great!

"Lucky break," the geek mumbled. "Like everything else around here, this place is falling apart."

"Watch it, buster, or you'll be next! Okay, I sink . . . I think I'm ready!" Starbuck turned to the Superheroes. "Let's go find . . . uh . . . right . . . Christmas." He grabbed a hold of the cell door, grinning full bore at the thought of dramatically tearing it off its hinges. Yeah, he'd flex his superpowers a little more and show these guys that he was worthy of being chosen for the Halls of Justice, and clear those black marks against him. With one mighty heave . . . he jerked himself forward, his forehead colliding with the metal bars. With a groan, he collapsed in a heap.

"Bloody hell, Dayton" _Frosty_ murmured, looking accusingly at the _Iceman_. "Why didn't you just tell him he could run really, really fast?"

"Because I didn't want to have to chase him."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Where are Cylons, Malus? Why aren't they coming?" Apollo asked, turning around to look behind them in the tunnel. Behind him, Boomer shook his head. It was clear. Luana was off to his side, her weapon following her gaze as her keen eyes swept the dark passageway. "They should be coming to investigate the second round of laser fire."

"The three in the Command Centre have orders to not leave their posts until relieved of duty, Captain. They will defend it to the end." Malus replied. "The other three will investigate, but they will first need to return from their posts around the compound. I expect they could show up anytime now."

_"__HALT!__"_

"Apollo!" Luana shouted, at the same time as she pulled the trigger. The centurion had appeared abruptly from an offshoot of the main corridor. Her shot went wide. The centurion raised his weapon, pointing it towards her. She dived to the ground as the Cylon laser blast let loose. She screamed as she hit the surface, her own weapon discharging in the Cylon's direction as she did so.

Simultaneously, Apollo and Boomer fired. In a flash of light, the Cylon shuddered, falling to its knees as all three shots connected, his pulse rifle still pointed in their direction. Apollo squeezed the trigger again, this time his laser hitting the centurion in its chest plate. The plate blew off in a shower of molten bits and fragments. It collapsed to the ground spewing sparks and smoke, but its final shot went wide, hitting the overhead illuminators. A shower of sparks rained down on them.

"Luana!" Apollo ran to her side, dropping to his knees beside her. He turned her towards her, holding his breath, feeling his chest hitch with tension, until clear, brown eyes looked back at him. There were scorch marks on the surface right in front of her. "Are you okay?"

"Fragrant, festering felgercarb!" she snapped, sitting up gingerly, and shaking her head as she glanced towards the smouldering Cylon. "My aim is way off with this thing. It's not weighted right for me." She looked down in disgust at the enemy weapon she was carrying.

"Never mind that," Apollo cut her off, his keen eyes looking her up and down for any sign of injury . . . which was difficult to assess considering what she had been through already. "Are you okay? You screamed."

"I tend to do that when bursts of laser fire come barrelling towards me," she smiled weakly, pushing her hair back from her face. "Sorry, Apollo. I'm kind of new at this ground assault thing. I'm still getting used to things shooting back at me. I could feel the heat off that shot. I thought . . ." she shuddered slightly, pushing her hair back irritably.

"You did just fine," Apollo reassured her, remembering that not long ago, before she joined the Fleet, this young woman hadn't even seen a laser blaster. He held out a hand to help her up.

"My aim is off too, Luana," Boomer added. He looked to the IL. "Where do you have our weapons stored, Malus? I'd rather be storming your Command Centre carrying my own blaster."

"In the Command Centre." Malus replied.

"Terrific." Boomer retorted.

"Are there more passageways that connect with this one up ahead? Do you know where the other centurions will likely intercept us?" Apollo drilled the IL. "You're in charge, after all."

"Due to our shortage of centurions, we rotate our duties. I could calculate where the three of them were supposed to be, but would then have to factor in their individual malfunctions and idiosyncrasies."

"Idiosyncrasies?" Apollo asked, then held up a hand as the IL's lights sped up, a sure sign they were in for another long explanation of unpredictable Cylon behaviour. It was more than he could bear right now. "Forget it. Just tell me when we're likely to run into another one."

"Now."

"Now?"

A flash of laser fire flew between them.

"Yes. Now."

xxxxxxxxxx

Jolly sighed as he swept over rolling fields of golden grasses, intermixed with cascading waterfalls, and primeval forests. To his right, just on the edge of his vision, was a herd of some sort of grazing animals which were breaking into a run, frightened by the sound of his ship. To his left was a lake, shining like polished silver in the sunlight. Sagan sakes, it just didn't seem right that they were there to attack a Cylon Base. This planet looked so much like parts of Caprica that he knew and loved that it almost felt as though he had arrived home. Jolly tore his gaze away from the intoxicating view, and glanced at his scanners.

Nothing.

And that was the weird part. As yet, not a single Cylon Raider had been launched in response to their approach, and there was no indication of ground-to-air missile lock. Now that could mean they had successfully evaded detection by the enemy's scanners. But he wasn't ready to sit back and congratulate himself quite yet.

Hades Hole, they hadn't even detected any Cylon scans on _passive_. This was weird.

He flicked a switch, examining the concentrated scan of their targeted area. The geotechnical survey showed a shadow over the mountainous region that had been emitting the detected energy wavelons. It had to be the Cylon Base as Commander Adama had deduced. They'd be over the area in thirty microns, and for the time being were maintaining silence over the commline.

Jolly frowned, still not seeing much in the way of defences. They had to have some artillery waiting to pick off unsuspecting Vipers. Didn't they? What Cylon base _didn't_? It was unsettling, to say the least, flying into the supposed heart of a Cylon-occupied planet . . . only to get the sneaking suspicion that no one was home.

They passed over the Command Centre, and Jolly was close enough to get a visual on the perimeter. Still, there was nothing. He spotted a nearby battery, but no signs of centurions. He banked to the right, pulling around, and preparing to land. He knew that Lia would be getting into position to follow him in, and decided to pass over the installation for a closer look, giving it the full scan.

"What the. . ." he began. He hit his commline, abruptly making a decision. "What do you make of that, Lia?"

"Jolly?"

"It's dead, Lia."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The anti-assault battery. Scan it. It's dead. No power signatures at all."

"But . . .that doesn't make any sense. A Cylon base leaving itself open and defenceless?"

"I know, but there it is, Lia. That turret is deader than the ninth Lord of Kobol, and his pet felix."

"It has to be a trick, Jolly. It must be."

"Well if it is, it's the oddest one I've ever seen."

"I'm with you on that, Jolly." Dietra inserted. "Cylons aren't exactly known for their tactical wizardry. If they haven't reared their burnished helmet-heads, than there's something else happening here."

They circled the battery again, and Jolly was struck by how overgrown it was. Trees grew close to the guns, and leaves and vines of some sort were reclaiming the whole installation. It looked as if no one had gone near the thing in ages.

_What the frack?_

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about," Lia opined.

"Okay, Blue Squadron. Let's get these birds down on the ground, and flush out some Cylons." Jolly ordered them.

He was perplexed, to put it mildly, but one thing was clear. Whatever resistance they were going to find was seemingly within the Base. The Cylons _weren't_ coming out to meet them.

And he had no idea why.

xxxxxxxxxx

Adama's mouth was set in a thin line. He had been about to leave the Bridge and head for Launch Bay Alpha to confront Ama, when word had arrived for him from the OC. It appeared that the Empyrean Necromancer was waiting for him _there__._ Tigh had carefully left his features neutral when he had informed his superior officer of the same. But the message was clear. It seemed that the Councilwoman was issuing the orders.

It left a sour taste in Adama's mouth, taking him back to a time where the Council of Twelve had assigned Siress Tinia to be his 'aide'. The Commander of the _Galactica_, and the President of the Council of the Twelve, did not like being summoned like a . . . a subordinate. A cadet! He tried to quell his rising anger. He should be on the Bridge with an imminent attack on the Cylon Base about to occur, and his salvage crew currently working to restart the Cylon Base Ship. Then there was the outstanding issue of the other Battlestar, hanging in pieces like something from a scrapyard, which was currently without a commanding officer, both Cain and his new Strike Captain/ Executive Officer being in the _Galactica_'s Life Station. Adama should have shuttled Tigh over there when he had heard word that Cain was having his surgery.

"Adama, come and have a drink. You look like you could use one," Ama told him, motioning to him from the table behind him.

He hadn't noticed her when he had walked in to the Officer's Club, and suspected that was why she had chosen _that_ particular spot with her back to the wall, giving her a clear vantage point. At the bar sat Chameleon and the Earthmen, including . . . Dickins. Which was a little suspicious, considering the last he had heard the man was having a psychiatric examination, which would determine whether or not he would go to Tribunal for attacking Security Officers and civilians alike. Ryan—who was curiously wearing his hair much shorter, and wasn't dressed in what Dayton referred to as 'late granola'—smiled and waved a hand heartily in his direction. Then a tankard of ale effectively distracted the affable Earthman. Chameleon nodded and quickly looked away, in the way that he did when he was up to something. Adama's alert klaxon started to go off. He let out a deep breath, aware it sounded akin to a growl. "Ama . . ."

"I know. But it's not what it seems. I needed to talk to you privately about the boys, and the Bridge is not the place to do it." Ama waved an unconcerned hand in the air, and then motioned to the barkeep for a round. "Especially considering that some of our fellow Council members have ears there. Please sit down."

With a frown, Adama slid into the chair across from her. He folded his hands on the table, noting the usual delicacies, and the fine ambrosa that was slid in front of him from the barkeep. He raised his glass and looked into Ama's grey eyes, their swirling dark depths seeming to portent a massive storm front, especially with her wild, white hair flowing over her shoulders. For a moment he felt he was about to be hit by lightning. "I have a Battlestar to run, Ama. And a Fleet to defend."

"Thank the Goddess Triquetra and your sundry Lords of Kobol that you do," Ama smiled, her gaped teeth still surprising him after all this time. Her features grew more serious, and she reached out and lightly touched his hand. "I had a visitation, Adama."

He couldn't explain the sudden tightening of his chest, or the jolt of. . .what felt like energy . . which coursed up his arm, but somehow he knew that this _visitation_ she was going to describe would both mystify and astound him. "Go on."

"A lightness. A presence. An ethereal intelligence." Ama continued.

"God?" he whispered after a moment.

"If not God, than of God . . . as are we all." Ama returned, swirling her ambrosa in her glass and raising it to her lips.

"You're not sure which? Who?" Adama asked hesitantly. There were many times in his life when he had felt the presence of God, but never had a celestial Being visibly revealed him or herself to him, as had happened with Apollo, Starbuck, Sheba, and even Commander Mark Dayton. The Beings from the Ship of Lights had intervened on three separate occasions now, each time averting disaster. If they were involved again . . . "What did they tell you? What did they want?"

"They didn't simply tell me, they also showed me, Adama. And asked that I prepare a messenger," Ama replied.

"Messenger?" She had left it so that he had to probe her, looking for answers. She wouldn't simply explain herself. "Ama . . . that's rather nebulous . . ."

"Yes. Isn't it wonderful?" She gushed, her smile radiant, despite its orthodontic challenges.

"Who is this messenger?" Adama asked, knowing he needed to ask specific questions from the necromancer if he was going to get anywhere. She had a penchant for the evasive non-specific. Sort of.

"Dickins." Ama nodded towards the Earthman, who was starting his second tankard. "I must get him to the planet. I had thought to carefully manoeuvre him down there . . . but I realize now that the best course of action is to tell you what I know, and work with you, not _around_ you."

Adama raised his eyebrows. "Well, I thank you for that. Especially considering that we work together on Council."

"Don't be shocked, Adama." Ama laughed lightly. "I'm a woman accustomed to doing things as I please, and it's worked very well for me in the past," she reminded him, not apologizing for considering going behind his back.

"Why exactly is Dickins the messenger, Ama? Who is he to deliver this message to?"

"Earth. To help correct a drastic mistake."

"Earth? Mistake?" Adama asked in alarm. Then it hit him. "Does this have something to do with the engineered planet? Are the Ship of Lights Beings the ones responsible for creating this planet that reminds the Earthmen so much of their homeworld?"

"It appears so." Ama nodded.

"Then the Dynamos . . . ?"

"Yes."

"That's why we never understood the full extent of their powers or ability?" Adama asked. Wilker hadn't even been able to disassemble them. Every attempt he had made at figuring out the mysterious spheroids had met with failure. "They were beyond our scope of knowledge."

"I should imagine so." Ama replied with a small shrug. "Technology isn't my strong suit."

"What about the Cylon presence on that same planet?"

"I forgot to ask." She shrugged slightly. "But between the Cylon Base, and the Base Star, I'm sure we will be enlightened."

"But how will Dickins get to Earth? It's light-yahrens from here."

"Much the same way he _arrived_ in this part of the universe."

"A wormhole?" Adama recalled Dayton's explanation of their theoretical trip through the wormhole, after the destruction of the Earth space station by a huge explosion.

"Is that what you call it?" Ama countered. "I can only suggest that the Earthmen were purposely brought here to fulfil a destiny."

The commander considered her words. "Fate? We all have our role to play?"

"And some of us play it willingly, and with a certain elegance," she returned playfully. "Others need to be occasionally turned about and pointed in the correct direction. Some even require a stiff kick in the pants."

"Why did they choose you, Ama, to communicate with?" the commander asked. Why not appear directly before Adama, if they needed his help?

"They've been with me for yahrens, my friend. Watching me. Keeping me company." She shrugged. "I've always been aware of their presence to some degree. Perhaps it was their fellowship that led me to this moment."

"Their fellowship? Not their counsel?" he asked, trying to understand her relationship with this advanced race that he could only theorize about.

"No, I've never felt that they were guiding me in any way. Only observing. In fact, they seemed rather abashed when I finally admitted I knew they were watching." The thought seemed to amuse her.

"Could you see them?"

"There is an aura that I can detect, but really, more than anything else, I can feel them." Ama replied, blanketing his hands with her own, but not touching him. "Sometimes. . .sometimes, I can hear them."

"Actual voices?"

"No. Not like you and I, here." Or here. "More resembling . . .whispers, in the mind."

Adama inhaled sharply as a tingling and warmth penetrated his hands. His gaze darted to hers. He was no stranger to mind over matter, having once trained in a special program to maximize the potential of the limitless powers of the brain. But she appeared as though it had cost her nothing, this redirection of her energies. When he had experimented with it, he had found it taxing in the extreme. Especially now, after so many yahrens of not practicing. Even as a young man, it had been a strain. "Do that again."

"I'll bet you say that to all the Necromancers . . ." she murmured, rising from her chair to take the one beside his. This time she took his hands, and leaned towards him until their eyes were mere millimetrons apart.

Look into my eyes, Adama. I will show you what they showed me.

She didn't need to say it. He heard it loud and clear. As though their minds were abruptly connected. Once again, he found himself starring into the swirling pools of grey, and could feel himself being drawn into their depths, yet found himself holding back, hesitant to surrender his control. His body tingled, and their combined energy seemed to create an emanation around them that he could clearly see and feel.

Warriors! You're as bad as Starbuck. Her eyes twinkled with merriment at the established similarity. Relax, Adama. I don't bite . . . very hard.

He took a deep breath, letting it out, feeling a pleasant warmth and tingling suffuse his body. He closed his eyes, as it seemed the natural thing to do. Another deep breath, and he could feel a pervading relaxation sweep over him, much like he had once enjoyed through long, peaceful centons of meditation. Then an image took shape. That of a devastated world. A war torn, desolate society, lying in ruin. It could have been any of the Twelve Worlds, but with an inexplicable certainty, he knew it was not. This was Earth. He blinked, barely making out the ominous, unmistakeable sound of a Cylon drone, as a phalanx of centurions appeared from the smouldering wasteland, littered with smoking rubble and smoking corpses. "There-are-no-survivors." A final image of a lone Base Ship, orbiting the planet.

Adama heaved himself backwards, breaking contact with the Necromancer, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. He gasped breathlessly, and he tried to make sense of what he'd seen. What she had shown him. He stood up shakily, leaning forward and resting his hands on the arms of her chair. "Ama, this mistake . . ."

"I'm afraid they didn't enlighten me completely, Adama. I drew my own conclusions, as I'm sure you did as well. Perhaps it would reflect poorly on them if we knew that even the Divine can err in judgment."

Adama let out a slow, jagged breath, his stomach twisting at the very idea. He stood up, and grasped the back of his chair. "The Cylons beat us to Earth?" His head still swam, as if he had just awakened from a very bad dream.

"Or will beat us to Earth." Ama replied, nodding. "We must help our brothers."

"Then they haven't made it there yet?" Adama asked, suddenly hopeful.

"From what I was told, no." Ama agreed, and a fleeting frown touched her lips. "I pray that I have not misunderstood them. They're not exactly known for being straight forward and direct."

"Then the wormhole . . . we could transport the Fleet through the wormhole. We'll repair the _Pegasus_, and between her and the _Galactica_, we will defend Earth against our enemies!"

"I'm not sure that's what they had in mind . . . " Ama held up a hand. Then smiled and shook her head slightly, as Adama nodded absently, deep in his own thoughts. "Dickins . . ."

"Ama," Adama interrupted, "Those Dynamos are taking up a position over the planet. With the vast amount of energy they release, it could be feasible that somehow they will cause this wormhole to open."

"Lords, Adama, I hope you're not going to call a Council meeting?" Ama groaned. She grimaced at what some of her fellow Council members would say, once they heard this 'evidence'.

"I'm afraid so, Ama. Once we find out exactly what we're dealing with on that Base." Adama nodded.

"I really must insist on the Earth Liaison, Commander Dayton, being there." Ama added.

"Yes . . . of course. In the meantime, you're asking for clearance, for them," he nodded in the direction of Dickins, "to go down to the planet."

"Precisely. I understand that they will be of help with understanding the technology."

"This planet was created with the assistance of Earthmen?" His eyes opened wide at that, then he reconsidered. "Or with the intent that Earthmen would find it?"

"Yes." She replied evasively, glancing over at the bar again. She frowned, seeing several empty tankards lined up in front of all the men. "Grant me this, I beseech you."

"Very well. Consider it granted."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Well?" Dayton asked Tone as he looked over the lieutenant who had almost managed to knock himself out when he tried to pull the cell door off its hinges. Starbuck was sporting an impressive lump and contusion on his forehead from where his head had collided with a metal bar not willing to cede way to a Colonial Warrior, superhero or not. Now he sat, propped up against the cell door, obediently and patiently allowing the med tech to assess him.

Which meant something was very wrong.

"I think he has a concussion," Tone offered finally. He was using a damp piece of torn sleeve to wipe blood away from Starbuck's scalp.

"You said that when they brought him back from the Control Centre," Baker pointed out.

"I haven't changed my mind. At least he seems a bit cooler since drinking all the water. His fever is going down, though not fast enough for my liking. I'd say whatever chemical reaction he was having, in addition to the head injury, is working its way out of his system," Tone replied, holding two fingers up in front of the warrior. "How many?"

"How many what?" Starbuck murmured, his eyes half-closed. He took another sip of the cool water from the canteen that had recently been shoved into his hand. His hair was plastered to his scalp, and his uniform clung damply to him like a second skin. He sighed, closing his eyes, and dreaming of a long, hot turbo-wash.

"Fingers, Lieutenant. How many fingers am I holding up?"

His blue eyes flickered open for a moment, slowly focussing in on the digits. They may, or may not, have been waving at him. He'd have to flip a cubit on it. "Two"

"How many superheroes?" Tone asked, glancing back at Dayton.

"Superheroes?" the lieutenant repeated, looking at the med tech sceptically. Something about a 'geek' came to mind. He tried to ignore it, but the implication was obvious . . . and not altogether unfounded.

"How many superheroes do you see, Starbuck?"

"What the frack are you talking about, Tone?" Starbuck asked irritably. He pushed his damp hair off his forehead. "Did you back into your hypospray, or something?"

"I think he's back," Dayton grinned, kneeling done beside the warrior. "Who am I, kid?

The blue eyes locked on the grey. "Astronut from . . .uh . . . Chicago . . ." He smiled slightly, "That toddlin' town."

"He's definitely back!" Dayton slapped his shoulder.

"Wait a centon, Dayton. This sudden flip-flopping in consciousness and orientation isn't necessarily a good thing. He's got something neurological going on here," Tone warned them. "How many blows to the head has he had in the last two days?"

Starbuck held up two fingers, waving them slightly. "Two?" The med tech scowled at him.

"Is it dangerous?" Baker asked right away. "To move him, I mean."

"The less he's moved, the better." Tone cautioned. "With this significant level of sudden cognitive change, there's a chance that he has Second Impact Syndrome. It's more likely to cause brain swelling, and possibly permanent neurological damage. There have even been incidents of death. And it presents itself suddenly. One moment, you're fine, and the next . . ." He snapped his fingers, "you're in deep mong."

"Cheery sort, isn't he?" Starbuck quipped to Dayton.

"Understood, Tone." Dayton nodded soberly. He put a hand on Starbuck's shoulder when the younger man made to rise. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Turbo-flush," Starbuck replied, glancing at Tone. "After all, rumour has it that not urinating after drinking several canteens of water is likely to cause bladder swelling, and possible urological damage . . ."

Tone smirked. "Seriously, Starbuck, I know you probably _feel _okay, but five centons ago you were trying out to join the Iceman and his sidekick in the Halls of Justice as a superhero."

Starbuck looked from one man to the next, his eyes narrowing, each time seeing the earnest concern they shared. Oh, and a glint of amusement behind Dayton's eyes. "How'd I do?"

"Fair to middling." Dayton replied. "I mean _the__ Incredible Hulk _or the _Silver Surfer _you ain't, but I'll give you points for enthusiasm."

Again, Starbuck made to stand up, this time feeling Dayton's restraining grip turn to one of support as he teetered to his feet. He grabbed a bar, fighting off the resulting wave of dizziness. Baker's tylinium-clad grip secured him on the other side. "Thanks, guys. But I think I can manage. I've been doing this myself for a while now."

"Well, where are you going to go?" Tone asked. "We're supposed to stay here. Captain Apollo's orders."

"Orders?" Starbuck perked up at that. "Why? Where is he?"

"You really don't remember?" Baker asked, "Boomer, Luana, Malus and Apollo are attacking the Control Centre."

"Without us?" Starbuck asked, his brow knitting. Then he turned around and made for the door, shaking his head, "I don't think so."

Baker looked at Dayton, "What do we do?"

"Well, we said we'd watch him. We can't do it from in here." With a wide grin, Dayton followed the warrior, checking his weapon. He called to the lieutenant. "Uh, kid?"

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" He touched his empty holster, frowning.

"Umm," Dayton smiled, pointing downwards, "bladder?"

"Oh. Right." He smiled ruefully. "Thanks, Pops."

xxxxxxxxxx

Apollo dived for the ground, turning as he did so to fire on the enemy with his Cylon pulse rifle. He startled when he saw what was coming at him, hesitating before he let loose his shot. This highly polished gold centurion appeared to have a built in weapon in place of its right arm. Apollo's shot went wide, and reflexively he rolled away, sensing that the Cylon's next discharge was going to be dead on target.

The blast of heat was oppressive. The captain covered his face, as debris hurled towards him.

"Apollo!"

Boomer's warning was clear. Apollo kept rolling, feeling the heat of another blast barely miss him. The centurion was targeting him. There was no doubt.

"Cease fire, Horridum!" the IL ordered. "Stand down!"

"Must-kill-Colonial-Warrior."

"Oh, sludge ingression," Malus groused. "I thought I shut you down yahrens ago."

The noise was deafening as shot after shot from the pulse rifle filled the caverns. Apollo kept rolling, aware he was only milli-microns ahead of the blasts. It was as though the command level centurion was toying with him. toying with its prey.

"What the frack is it made from?" Boomer hollered, his last shot appearing to bounce off the centurion like a spitball. Luana cursed beside him, finally landing a shot with the same result, as it continued to advance on Apollo, following him steadily and determinedly. The droning sound coursed through them, filling them with dread.

"I was redesigning the basic centurion armour, giving it a condensed tylinium coating. An early experiment. It's resistant to all light plasma weapons that I am familiar with," Malus replied, staying at the periphery of the action, and awaiting the outcome.

"Then how do we kill it?" Boomer shouted, firing at the centurion's helmet. Again, the shot seemed to bounce harmlessly off the Cylon.

"It's impenetrable," Malus replied. "You can't kill it with your weapons. I suggest retreat as your only viable option at this point."

"Well, that isn't going to help Apollo!" Luana shouted, scanning the area, looking for possibilities. Cold, damp rock surrounded them.

"Unfortunately, Horridum won't stop until the captain's dead. It's an idiosyncrasy in his programming. He's focussed to a fault."

Boomer stared at Malus in disbelief, shaking his head. Apollo was running out of room to retreat as the Cylon continued to daggit him, the right arm weapon hurling deadly volleys of energy towards the warrior. Boomer took a deep breath, shaking his head that he was even considering what he was considering, but he was out of choices. With a battle cry that had all heads turning towards him in shock—except the engrossed gold centurion's—he hurled himself towards Horridum, still firing as he did so, throwing his weight against the centurion's back, and knocking him to the ground.

"Apollo! Run!" Luana shrieked, at Boomer's side in a micron, and jerking the much larger warrior to his feet with a strength that could only come from enormous amounts of adrenaline pumping through her veins. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Apollo regaining his footing, and turning towards them, weapon at the ready.

Boomer could feel a grip that brushed his right boot, as Luana propelled him out of the centurion's reach. She aimed at the Cylon's weapon, the intent on her features clear. It was brilliant!

"Frack!" Lu shouted, her weapon seizing. She glanced at Boomer in uncertainty, as the Cylon weapon began to vibrate and heat up. Oh, Triquetra . . .

"Lu . . .!" Boomer warned her, his eyes widening in horror as it began to glow.

She hurled the malfunctioning blaster towards the gold centurion, shouting, "Get down!" The ensign dived to the ground, feeling Boomer's body shield hers protectively a milli-centon later.

"The-base-is-under-attack! Kill-the-Colonial-Warriors! The-base-is-under-attack! Kill-the- Colonial . . ."

"Oh, dysfunctional diodes . . ." moaned Malus.

The explosion rocked the cavern, and all within.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Hauler One, secured and ready."

"Hauler Two, secured and ready."

"Hauler Three, secured and ready."

"Hauler Four, secured and ready."

Dorado elbowed Bojay lightly in the Command Centre. "Kind of makes a guy glad that there are only four of them."

Bojay grinned and nodded his agreement. "Twenty cubits says the fusion reactor dies before we get halfway to sub-light."

"Make it thirty and I'm in," Dorado returned. "In fact, I'll bet another fifty that the reactor gets us all the way back to the Fleet."

"Stops and starts don't count," Bojay negotiated.

"Even if it quit, and we got her restarted, it would still get us back."

"Nah," argued Bojay. "One shot. Period."

"Okay. Done."

"I am listening," Dr. Wilker pointed out indignantly as he stood beside Supervisor Thurman from the Hephaestus. The salvage specialist had taken over operations to coordinate with his Haulers.

"What should I put you down for, Doctor?" Dorado returned after a moment's consideration.

"I'm not a betting man . . . usually," Wilker replied, looking over the ship's power signatures and nodding in satisfaction. All of the Base Ship's operational systems were humming along just as they should, and the power levels were now over eighty percent. At this rate, they'd end up at sub-light before much longer. "But in this case, I'll make an exception."

"Thurman, this is Hauler One. We are ready to proceed on your word."

"Very well, Hauler One. All stand by," Thurman replied, changing to an internal frequency. "Halls, are you ready in engineering?"

"Ready as we'll ever be, Thurman," the technician replied. He looked around at the Cylon machinery, humming away almost like new. Between the original machinery, and the bridged and tribunal-rigged systems they'd installed, this place was looking more like he'd imagined it should. "All three surviving sub-light fusion reactors are on-line and functioning. Intercooler status is well within tolerances. We're ready to go."

"All right, men. Three, two, one. Engaging." Thurman replied.

Collectively, the Colonials held their breath as the Base Ship's main sub-light engine engaged at minimal power. While they had enough power to propel the Cylon warship back to the Fleet, navigation was still a major issue. The Haulers would be utilized for the same.

"Dr. Wilker, I know we're talking about scrapping this behemoth, but what would it take to get her operational as a warship again?" Dorado posed to the scientist.

Supervisor Thurman glanced at the captain. "You mean, rebuild her? Completely?"

Dorado shrugged, smiling as the salvage man's face lit up at the possibility of applying his talents to something more challenging than replacing the usual door seals and waste pipes. "Well, I didn't exactly mean from the hull up."

"Dorado, we'd have to run a complete diagnostic on her before I could answer that," Wilker replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Given how little we actually know about Cylon systems, even ones this old, that could take sectars. Yahrens, even."

Dorado sighed.

"Interesting idea though." Bojay inserted. "Two Battlestars _and_ a Base Ship to protect the Fleet. But we probably wouldn't have the scrap metal to repair the _Pegasus_, unless we sacrifice this beast," Bojay replied. "Her starboard bay alone is going to require massive amounts of raw material, just to get her sealed up and habitable again. Flight operations . . .I don't know."

"What about the Aptian Freighter?" Dorado replied. "It's a full time job just keeping that old wreck running. We could scrap her and move her population to the Base Ship. I'm wagering that she would accommodate the population. The Aptian's second in line to the _Malocchio_ Freighter in size. That's a fair whack of scrap metal."

"A military ship housing civilians?" Brie asked frowning. "I'm not even sure I'd want to live on a Cylon Base Ship. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who would feel that way."

"Necessity sometimes outweighs preference." Dorado shrugged.

"It's a solid idea, Captain." Wilker told the young man. "I'll suggest it to Commander Adama."

"Of course, there's one more thing to consider," said Thurman.

"And that is?" asked Dorado.

"Plumbing. I don't think Cylons have much use for anything in the way of turbo-flushes."

"Good point," smiled Wilker. "That will take a major refit all on its own."

"Yeah," said Dorado, a bit crestfallen.

"Obviously, none of you have spent any appreciable time on the Aptian." Cree interrupted. "I have a few friends that live aboard. That old bucket was used to haul cargo, and so plumbed in turbo-flushes aren't exactly in abundance. Neither are turbo-washes. After the Destruction, they had to bring in portables, and strategically situate them for shared use amongst the population. The few turbo-washes are also communal, and people rotate through a schedule for sectonly usage. Most of the food is shipped in from the Astrodon because they also have little in the way of cooking facilities. Why do you think that everybody's trying to get off that ship? Lords, there are only a handful of private quarters, and most of those are reserved for the officers."

"I didn't know that." Bojay returned, looking at Dorado.

"Captain Apollo told me that there are several old freighters like that which have been adapted to the best of our abilities to make them habitable. But they certainly are far from ideal. Coincidentally, the enlistment rates from those ships are exceptionally high." Dorado informed them.

"Join the Colonial Service. At least you get daily turbo-washes and only have to share the turbo-flush with thirty-six other warriors in your squad." Rooke quipped.

"Where do I sign up?" Dorado added, suddenly narrowing his eyes as he looked at the readouts. "Hey, we're moving!"

"What's our speed?" asked Brie.

"We are now at . . . ten metrons per micron, and accelerating."

"Is that all?" she asked.

"We have over a million gross tons of dead weight metal to move," replied Wilker. "And these engines haven't done anything for a very long time. Alright, now at fifteen metrons per micron. Still accelerating."

"What about navigation?" asked Bojay. "That was the big concern."

"I think I can access the navigational thrusters," said Wilker. He pressed several controls. "Whether they will respond or not, that's another matter." One of the indicated areas lit up, and Wilker moved to another console. A few unintelligible mumbles followed, but no words. Finally, he asked, "Dorado. Velocity?"

"We are now at eighty-five metrons per micron, and increasing. Velocity curve is looking good. One hundred metrons." They all stood, eyes riveted to the ancient monitors. "Two hundred metrons, and still increasing. How does it look in engineering?" he asked Thurman.

Who, in turn, asked Halls.

"Reactor pressure reads as nominal. No leaks. Fuel flow within indicated parameters. Ready to kick her up a notch."

"Go," said Wilker.

"Affirmative, Halls," repeated Thurman.

Halls opened the flow valves another few percent. The noise of the thrusters increased, and all indicators shot up.

"Now at five hundred . . . six! Now at a full thousand metrons per micron, and still accelerating, Doctor!" reported Dorado.

"What about steering?" asked Rooke.

"Coming back on-line now," said Wilker. He moved over to the controls, and soon, the Base Ship was turning, altering course.

Brie whooped, startling the scientist. He gave her a long concentrated look that a parent might give a disobedient child. "Sorry," she murmured.

"Looking good, Thurman," said a voice, from one of the Haulers. "She's lit up like an office block, and she's turning. But . . . yeah. She's still a few degrees off, for the Fleet."

"Yes. Several of the manoeuvring thrusters are not engaging," replied Wilker. "Those nearest the blast damage are off-line. Can Hauler Three compensate?" he asked the Hephaestus supervisor.

"Consider it done," replied Thurman, issuing the order to his crew.

"We are now at fifty-five thousand metrons per micron," announced Dorado as Halls edged the power up a few more percent. "Sixty. Eighty. Lords, this curve sure looks nice!"

"Ever a man to admire curves . . ." Rooke ribbed him.

"Well," said Wilker, "perhaps we should contact the _Galactica_, and let them know we're on the way. Otherwise, she might blow us back to the Twelve Worlds." He checked the instruments. They were now at almost two hundred thousand metrons per micron, and still accelerating. "Thurman, tell Halls to hold the power at current levels." He ran his calculations as the salvage supervisor communicated with his man once again, adding an unnecessary go-between to the mix . . . something that Thurman had insisted on, based on known rules and regulations that none of them were aware of, or cared much about. "Captain, tell Commander Adama that our ETA is . . .one hundred and four centons, now."

"Affirmative, Doc," said Bojay. "Will do."

xxxxxxxxxx

Jolly swore as his speaker returned only static. He tried again, but there was nothing on any frequency. Communications with the _Galactica_ were impaired due to signal interference from the eerily newly active Dynamos, which didn't leave Jolly with many options. Blue Squadron was following him down, and as much as he preferred to start off a good ground assault mission with a spectacular strafing run, there was no observable enemy to fire on.

He jumped down from his Viper, drawing his weapon as he did so, watching Lia nimbly climb down from hers, and break into a run towards him. He'd be keeping a close eye on his wingmate. He knew that she had handled herself well on Alrin, but all the same, she was inexperienced. And the thought of anything happening to her, if he could prevent it, caused his chest to hitch in a discomfort that could only be paralleled by eating Borellian Offal in a hot sauce, superfluous to his gastric capacity.

_It's just because you're responsible for her, Jolly. That's all._

_ Yeah. Right!_

"Looks clear, Jolly." Lia said, looking over her scanner. "As far as I can tell, we still aren't even being scanned."

"I know, but keep your eyes open, Lia," he returned, as Giles and Varick joined them. "When we let our guard down, is when they strike."

"This is weird, Jolly. Where are they?" Giles asked, his weapon already in hand. "I mean we've got a Cylon base, but where are the Cylons?"

Varick pointed to the mountain that their scanners had revealed to be the base. "In there."

"I scanned Human life signs on our flyby," Giles nodded towards the mountain.

"How many?" Lia asked.

"We passed over too quickly to get an accurate readout," Giles admitted. "But more than one. Of that I'm certain."

"All right." Jolly activated his communicator, hoping it would work since they were well below the Dynamos location. "Dietra, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Jolly," came the lieutenant's reply.

"Are you in position?"

"Almost. Give me about . . . oh, three more centons. We're just waiting on Greenbean and the medical team. Here they come."

"Okay. We stick to the plan. Dee, you attack from the rear, we'll take the frontal assault." He glanced at his chrono figuring how long it would take them to reach the tunnel that appeared to be the only entrance on this side. "We attack in ten centons." He synched his chrono with the scanner, and had them all do the same. "Alright, we're set . . . now."

"Aye, Jolly. We'll be there."

xxxxxxxxxx

Sheba jumped to her feet as the biostretcher was steered out of surgery and into the Life Station. A life mask was in place, monitors were beeping, and Cain's heavy eyelids were struggling to open. Only Athena's gentle grasp prevented her from darting to her father's side at that instant. "How is he? How did it go?"

Dr. Sobek smiled reassuringly, his surgical hat and scrubs still in place, his mask pulled aside. "I couldn't be more pleased, Captain," he replied, leaning backwards against a table. "The commander tolerated the procedure quite well, and all initial scans show that the implant is functioning perfectly."

"He did well, Sheba," Dr. Salik added, pulling his cap from his head as Med Tech Waheeb began hooking the Juggernaut up to additional monitoring equipment in that cubicle. "Of course, there are still many tests that need to be done to see how effective the implant will be long term. But, he survived. And there are no signs that any additional neurological damage was done during the surgery. In fact, vascularity has been restored to some of the ischemic regions."

Sheba sighed in relief, briefly embracing Athena.

"Good news," Athena murmured, this time letting her friend move to her father's side, now that he was settled in the Life Station.

"Father?" Sheba murmured, gazing down on his beloved features. It was almost strange to see both eyes opening at the same time, and the definitive droop to the right side of his face, virtually undetectable.

"Hello, baby," Cain murmured groggily. "Lords of Kobol, I feel like a Base Ship fell on my head. Did I get the mong-raking Cylons, or did they get me?"

Sheba smiled, gently kissing his forehead. "No Cylons, father. You had the implant surgery. Remember?"

He seemed to consider her for a moment. They all held their breath.

"I remember," Cain nodded, pushing himself up on one elbow, and pulling aside the life mask. Hastily, the med tech elevated the head of the stretcher. The legendary officer settled back, looking at the faces around him in turn, before replying, "So, when do I get out of the Life Station and back to the _Pegasus_? The way I see it, she doesn't have a commanding officer right now, unless Adama has assigned Tigh over there, and we both know how well _that_ would go over." He glanced at Sobek and Salik. "Well, Doctors? A centar? Two? How long do you want to poke and prod me for before I can return to duty?"

"Commander Cain, there are tests that need to be done, as well as rehabilitation." Sobek returned, looking at Salik in alarm. "That's standard after any serious surgery. And this was about as serious as it gets, Commander."

"I don't have _time_ for that, Doctor. I have a Battlestar to command, for Sagan's sake." Cain sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the biostretcher with apparent ease, the sheets falling away from his body and settling around his waist. "Lords of Kobol, I'm as naked as a newborn. I thought you were doing surgery on my brain!" he exclaimed aghast, then smiled ruefully at the predicament. Despite the situation, Sheba couldn't help but smile.

Salik stepped forward, running his biomonitor over their patient, simultaneously double checking the data with the readouts on the monitors around them. He glanced at Sobek who was studying the neurological scans that the implant was relaying. The other grinned like an excited schoolboy at his success. Just from the way the commander was moving, it was evident that nearly all his motor functions had returned. Still, there was a long road ahead, as he would need to work on muscles that had tightened from atrophy. "Commander Cain, I'm sure you probably feel better than you have in sectars, but all the same, you just underwent a major surgical procedure, one that is experimental at this point. After all, we cut into your skull, remember. I insist that you . . ."

"Doctor, I agreed to be your Cavia Porcellus, but I didn't say anything about lying on my astrum in the Life Station while there are things to be done on my Bridge. I have a salvage mission that I need to catch up on, not to mention, the progress of the repairs on the _Pegasus_. Now someone better get me my uniform before I'm forced to walk naked to the launch bay, and commandeer a shuttle for the ride home. Wouldn't that cause a stir?" he half smiled, sparing Athena and his daughter a glance.

"They might not recognize you without your swagger stick, father," quipped Sheba.

"Well, I'll be carrying it again soon, and I'll send that cursed cane over to the Seniors' Ship to someone who needs it," replied Cain. "What the. . ." He scratched at the back of his neck, startling when he encountered a fine wire going from the base of his skull to the monitor that Sobek was studying. "By all the Lords, what is this electronic mong sticking out of my brain?"

"It's merely a temporarily hardwired relay that is transmitting important data. I need to know how effectively the electrical impulses are stimulating your neurons, Commander," Sobek said, lurching forward to grab Cain's hand. "I can increase or decrease the calibre of the impulses, as needed."

"Temporary, huh?" Cain intercepted the man's hand with ease. "Seems to be working to me, Sobek," he smiled. "So, are you going to unplug me, or shall I?"

"Father!" said Sheba, gently catching his hand. "Please. The doctor's right. You just came out of a life-or-death operation. Give your body time to heal and get back your strength."

"Equine mong. . . I feel fine." he blustered in return.

"Other than that Base Ship that fell on your head?" Sheba reminded him. "Father, the work on the _Pegasus _is already underway. In fact, we're almost five centars ahead of schedule." Cain made to speak. "Look, I can bring you the reports, or we can set up a remote link here. But you have to rest! You won't do the _Pegasus _or the Fleet any good if you overdo it, and bring on some post-operative complication!" She gently pushed him back onto the bed. "Now please."

"I. . ."

"I know, Father. We already talked about this. I told you I'd act as your executive officer while you were recuperating. You'll be back on the Bridge before you know it. _IF _you do as the doctor says. And you know what Commander Adama would tell you!"

"Some claptrap about regulations, no doubt. That it would be the same for him, or anybody else," said Cain with a grimace.

"And he would be right, Commander." Salik pointed out.

"It seems I have to execute a tactical withdrawal," Cain grumbled. Reluctantly, he settled back. "I want regular updates, Captain." His eyelids fluttered closed, then abruptly opened again. "Sheba?"

"I heard you, father. I'll keep you posted."

"Good. Now get your tail back on board the _Pegasus_ where it belongs. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," she replied, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. She smiled as he gripped her hand and squeezed it gently, his heavy eyelids focussing on her tenderly. "I love you, father."

"I know, baby." He glanced at the medical personnel and Athena self-consciously. Then sniffed wryly. "I love you too."

xxxxxxxxxx-

The entire cavern seemed to tremble, and the blast echoed down the corridor. Starbuck broke into a run, heading towards the recent sound of laser blasts that were followed by an explosion. Smoke and dust began to fill the air the further along he went. Bits of stone and dirt filtered down from above.

Behind him he could hear Dayton snarling something about the Flash, as the older men fell behind him. Smoke soon began to irritate his eyes, and he could hear voices just ahead. He barrelled onwards, suddenly and acutely aware he didn't have a weapon, but it didn't dissuade him knowing that Luana, Apollo and Boomer were up there. He'd figure something out.

" . . .I'm alright, Boomer. Really. Now, where's Apollo?" Luana was saying, her voice tense. _"__Captain!__"_

"I don't know. He was off to the right, behind that centurion, when it blew." Boomer replied, before calling out sharply as well, "Apol-lo!"

Relief temporarily flooded Starbuck hearing both Lu and Boomer's voices right away, only to find out that his best friend was now missing somewhere around a Cylon . . . and something that 'blew'. He smacked into a hard, smooth surface, staggering backwards as he gasped in a lungful of smoke. Luckily, he was rather accustomed to that. The twinkling head in the hazy air immediately in front of him, gave away the identity in a flash.

"Malus! Sorry. Didn't see you." A pause. "Find Apollo." Starbuck told him, grabbing the cold, metallic arm.

"I'm not one of your trained daggits, Starbuck." Malus returned pointedly.

"No, but your optical sensors aren't affected by smoke and debris, so you'll do." Starbuck retorted, pushing the IL towards Boomer's position. "Besides, this is another chance to prove your allegiance to us. I'll explain the 'friend' thing later, but suffice it to say that there's nothing I wouldn't do for Apollo, so either find him now or I'll rearrange your diodes, pal."

"I detect a little malevolence, Starbuck. Previously, you've been much more affable." Malus replied.

"Right now, my affability is directly related to you finding Apollo." Starbuck snapped.

Malus sighed dramatically, guiding the warrior. "Very well,"

"Starbuck?" Boomer called through the clearing debris.

"Yeah. Are you two okay?"

"We're fine." Boomer reached out to the blurry form of the warrior, gripping his arm. "What about you? Where are the others?"

"On my tail vapours." Starbuck returned, giving Luana a quick squeeze as she put an arm around him and looked at him in concern, no doubt noticing the gash on his forehead. He looked her over quickly, lightly brushing a kiss across her hair.

"I can't see a bloody thing! Starbuck! Where are you, kid?" Dayton was hollering, their stampeding footsteps slowing.

"We're right here. Hold that position, Dayton! Cover us!"

"Cover you? I can't see you, how can I cover you? Besides, all this crud has you covered already!" The Earthman paused, making a decision. "We're coming in, Hammerhead."

"Why am I not surprised?" Starbuck murmured, turning to Boomer. "Cylons?"

"I'm not sure. He was one tough centurion with condensed tylinium coating his armour. But the explosion could have finished him." The debris-covered lieutenant rubbed his eyes. "Where is he, Malus?"

"Under that pile of rubble. My sensors detect no energy readings." Malus motioned, still moving forward. "And your captain is . . ."

Starbuck stumbled over an inert form, reflexively letting go of Lu, and toppling to the ground. He found himself lying halfway across what he knew in his twisting guts must be Apollo. He hastily sat back, checking frantically for a pulse. "Tone!" he cried desperately, when he didn't feel one right away. He readjusted his fingers, leaning over his friend. Lords, it was too much like that time with Iblis . . . "Tone!" he shouted again hoarsely.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Apollo was prone, his debris-covered body deathly still as they gathered around him.

"Give him some air!" Tone ordered, trying to clear the warriors away from his new patient as he dropped down across from Starbuck, his woefully inadequate medkit with its damaged contents abandoned beside him. He started methodically assessing the captain the old-fashioned way.

"Want to tell me where to find some?" Starbuck snapped, his self-control plummeting, until he detected the faint flutter of a pulse beneath his fingertips. "I've got a pulse . . ." His voice was choked with emotion. "C'mon, Apollo! Don't quit on me now."

"Easy, Bucko," Boomer squeezed his shoulder, but his own concern for their friend was more than evident. "How does it look?" he asked the med tech.

"He's breathing and he has a pulse. That's like a full pyramid in my profession." Tone returned. "Captain? Captain Apollo! Can you hear me?"

A faint movement, followed by a groan of pain. "Frack, Dickins . . . I think you broke my arm. . ." Apollo moaned, rolling over onto his back, cradling his arm.

"Dickins? Didn't that happen yesterday?" Luana asked.

"Yeah, in a Hoverhockey game." Boomer replied with a frown. "Apollo. We're on Planet 'P'. Remember?"

Apollo glanced blearily at the faces above him, grimacing with pain, yet plainly perplexed. "What the . . .?"

Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth, his absolute relief at his friend being alive, overshadowing the fact that he was hurt and disoriented. "Take it easy, buddy. We've got you."

Apollo studied the lieutenant for a micron, then narrowed his eyes, looking around. Dust coated Boomer and Luana. "Right . . . I remember . . . where's that frackin' Cylon?"

"Buried." Boomer replied, motioning towards a pile of rubble. "Looks like the explosion got him."

The captain nodded at Luana. "Good job, Ensign. That was quick thinking, to throw the rifle at the Cylon."

She smiled with pleasure. "Thanks, Captain."

"You did that?" Starbuck asked her.

"Is that so difficult to believe?" she countered with an amused smile.

"No . . . on second thought, I guess not," he admitted. She could think on her feet, and had the survival instinct of a bureautician . . . not that he would ever tell her that.

"She's a good warrior, Starbuck." Boomer gave credit where it was due.

"Well, she learned from the best . . ." He grinned a grin that would 'abracadabra' the Faceman a secure place in history.

"If you don't say so yourself," Boomer chuckled, before moving to help the captain sit up. Apollo hissed through his teeth as his arm was jarred. "Sorry."

Apollo shook his head, squirming in discomfort as Starbuck shifted in behind him, supporting his weight on his uninjured side.

"All the same," Luana added, "I didn't exactly mean for you to get caught in the blast, Apollo. Sorry about that."

"I'd rather be buried by debris, then gunned down by a obsessive centurion any day." Apollo returned wryly. He waved off Tone as the med tech continued to check him over. "I'm fine."

"What is it with you pilots?" Tone griped, looking from Apollo to Starbuck, and back again. "What does it take to realize you're not fine? A gaping flesh wound? Cardiac arrest? A leg or two blown off?"

Apollo smiled, feeling Starbuck moving slightly as his friend chuckled behind him. The lieutenant had already been molecularly disassembled, had been caught in a wildfire, had broken his ankle, and had been knocked unconscious by the Cylons. Then there was his little side trip to Delirium and back. At least he _appeared_ to be back. Relatively, having only had a pulse rifle blow up near him and the ceiling of a tunnel collapse on him, Apollo was in fine shape. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed. "Right, Starbuck?"

"Absolutely." The warrior looked over his shoulder and muttered to Dayton. "I'd kill for a fumarello right now."

"By the way, are you still seeing superheroes, Bucko?" the captain tossed over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I just tripped over Flat on his Face, Out Cold Man. And, of course, Repeatedly Cracks his Skull Man was hanging out back at the Brig." Starbuck rejoined, distractedly palpating the lump on his forehead while Tone secured Apollo's arm to his side with an immobilizer. "I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to rejoin the Colonial Service. This superhero stuff is best left to guys who have sidekicks with a functional med kit."

"_Ah hem_," Tone grunted, as he cinched up the immobilizer.

"Not that I'm complaining, but I thought I ordered you guys to wait for us," Apollo grunted, as Tone tightened the field dressing even more.

"Now you know I hate for you to go anywhere without me," Starbuck reminded him.

Dayton simply shrugged noncommittally.

"I thought it was something like that." Apollo returned resignedly. The Earthman wouldn't turn down an opportunity to be back in the action, and Starbuck . . . well, the day Starbuck actually obeyed an order to stay out of the action would be the day that avians would stop flying and bovines would jump over the moon.

"Shh!" Luana held up a hand. "I hear something."

The men all turned in the direction Luana was looking. Starbuck and Boomer hastily helped Apollo to his feet.

"My sensors are detecting the sound of footfalls," Malus added, feeling slightly outdone by the female Human.

"Cylon?" Apollo asked.

"No, Human."

xxxxxxxxxx

Sitting across from him in the Commander's quarters, Tigh studied Adama for a long moment. The dialogue had been a combination of straight fact, unguarded speculation, and outright ludicrous metaphysical mumbo jumbo. Wormholes, Ship of Light Beings, the Cylons beating them to Earth, Necromancers, destruction and mayhem, mental images of portents . . . Of course, straight fact had been the least of it all.

"Tigh?" Adama asked, searching the colonel's features, and leaning forward in his seat expectantly.

"Adama . . ." he winced, his reluctance to proceed clear. "All this . . . _stuff_. . ."

The commander smiled slightly, sitting back in his chair behind his desk, intertwining his hands on his stomach, and nodded. "Go ahead. Say it. That's why I asked."

"It all sounds like so much . . . piffle." Tigh smiled weakly. Apologetically.

Adama raised his eyebrows. "Piffle?"

A sharp nod. "Piffle."

"I see." Adama frowned, seemingly at a lost for words. He opened his mouth and closed it again when his Executive Officer raised his hand.

"I know that Ama seems to be fairly accurate so far about predicting the future in matters regarding individuals—mainly those that she considers her extended or adopted family—but . . . to consider sending our entire Fleet through a wormhole that is purely conjecture . . ." Tigh shook his head, his lips tightening for a moment. He raised a hand, waving it airily. "Even bringing the matter before the Council . . . it seems so . . . outlandish."

"Tigh, I saw it too. These images that the Ship of Lights Beings showed Ama. The total destruction of mankind on Earth. Because of the Cylons finding her before _we_ do." The far away look on Adama's face made it appear as though he was reliving the moment. "I can't . . . just sit back and do nothing."

"Even if we could get there tomorrow, how could we fight them off? One Battlestar? I mean the _Pegasus _is hardly ready to fight off anything right now."

"It depends on the strength of the Cylon forces. It depends when they're due to arrive. I don't have those answers. At least we could warn them. Show the Earthmen what lies ahead."

"I think we need more information. More solid data. At least something that indicates why the Cylons were out here to begin with, so far away from their home world," Tigh pressed. "Adama, wormholes are theoretical space-time distortions. Like you, I've heard tales of their existence, but nothing has ever been confirmed as fact. They are space anomalies, for lack of a more scientific explanation."

"Tigh, these Beings from the Ship of Lights have more knowledge and power than we can imagine. They are millennia beyond us, yet seem to only have our best interests in mind. I have to believe that if they're pointing me in this direction, that a wormhole to Earth is not only possible, that it exists. And that through these Dynamos, they have somehow harnessed the necessary energy, created the proper conditions, and have stabilized a corridor that could potentially take us safely to Earth."

"Too many 'if's', Adama. I don't like it." Tigh frowned. "If these Beings are as powerful as you suggest, then why don't they simply save Earth themselves? Why involve us at all?"

Adama sighed. "Ah, the age old question. I can't answer it any better than the thousands of philosophers that have come before me. At least with anything tangible, that would satisfy your sceptical nature, old friend." He smiled tolerantly. "Rules? Guidelines? Limitations placed upon them by the Almighty? I can only speculate, and that would get us nowhere."

"Adama, assuming that this is all true—which I admit I have my doubts about—would the Fleet survive a trip through the wormhole? Are you willing to take a chance that the benevolence of these Beings extends to ensuring the safety of the passengers aboard two-hundred-and-twenty-odd ships hurtling through an unknown space corridor? Most of those ships wouldn't hold together at lightspeed—which they were never designed to achieve—never mind while surpassing time and space limitations. They've offered only vague images and have delivered those through an Empyrean Necromancer, of all possible messengers. There are no assurances. There is nothing definitive."

The commander frowned, existing furrows on his brow deepening. "Faith often requires acceptance—and I admit it sometimes does seem like blind acceptance—of ideas that seem contrary to . . ."

"Adama, our first responsibility is to our own people. Not to an overall plan that some advanced society of mysterious Beings may or may not be following, and doesn't seem inclined to show us the details of."

"Is it, Tigh?" Adama let out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Do I really need to remind you of that? If I do, then you have your head so far up Ama's metaphysical mutterings that you need to step back and ground yourself in reality. The reality is we're responsible for what is left of the Twelve Colonies. Our people." Tigh squared his shoulders. "What if to save Earth, we must sacrifice the ships that likely wouldn't survive such a journey? Them or us. I, for one, am not willing to play God."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" His face was suddenly devoid of emotion.

Tigh sighed. "I believe you're letting your beliefs get in the way of your judgment."

"My beliefs have always _guided_ my judgment." Adama pointed out. "Isn't that why we started this journey to Earth? Because I believed it was out there?"

"Yes. Yes, you did. And yes, I will admit, Kobol was exactly where you believed it would be, based on those verses in _The Book of the Word. _I won't deny that."

"And?" Adama prompted, when Tigh fell silent a moment.

"And you thought then that divine providence was guiding you—and by extension, all of us—on this path." Tigh continued. "And now . . ."

"It is still."

Tigh threw up his hands. "Adama, I've always supported your instincts, you know that. But this time, there is just too much . . ." He let out a breath, shaking his head in frustration.

"Piffle?" Adama suggested.

"Yes!" Tigh returned vehemently. "Personally, if I was on Council, and you raised this possibility of voting on whether or not to transport the Fleet through a wormhole that is purely conjecture at this point, based on Ama's mystical meanderings through alternate dimensions with Beings that are made of energy, instead of biological matter, I would be seriously thinking about having a psychiatric evaluation done on our President and military leader."

"Your recommendation, Colonel?" His tone formal.

"Adama . . ." Tigh reached across, briefly touching his old friend's hand. "Let's wait to hear from Lieutenant Jolly or Captain Apollo on that base. Let's see what information Dr. Wilker retrieves from the Cylon Base Ship's databanks. We need more hard data before we make any decisions."

"And in the meantime, if a wormhole should suddenly open up . . .?" He waved a hand.

"If God—or his messengers—have already decided that we will travel through a wormhole in order to prevent the Cylons from destroying the Earth, then there is probably little that any of us can do about it. One way or the other."

"Now, you sound as though you are merely humouring a delusional old man, Tigh." The commander frowned.

"I didn't mean to, Adama." Tigh shook his head, wondering how he could rewind this conversation, and get it right this time. "I'm only considering the possibility that while my entire consciousness is screaming 'piffle', that I could be wrong. You know that I'm no fatalist."

"Nor am I. Which is why I'm pressing you for your input, rather than blasting ahead like others might were it up to them."

Tigh couldn't help but smile. Yes, if this were Cain talking, well, he wouldn't have talked. He'd have ordered lightspeed, and to Hades Hole with the outcome.

Adama continued. "What we do now, may irrevocably alter our future."

"Then let's not make any hasty decisions. Let's wait." Tigh replied, pausing for a moment to reflect upon yahrens of allegiance to this wise and honourable man. "I know that if the time does come, Adama, that you'll make the right decision. That's about the only thing that I am certain of right now."

"I wish I had your confidence, my friend."

Tigh sniffed, smiling at the irony. "I wish I had your faith."

"Which is why we so often need each other, Tigh," replied Adama.

_Beep_

_ "Commander? Omega here, sir. I have an update from Captain Sheba on the__Pegasus_ _repairs."_

"Perhaps never more so than now," sighed the colonel.

Adama held the gaze of his executive officer for a moment, then looked back at his monitor, "Put her through, Omega."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Captain!" Dietra paused in indecision, her features at first lighting up with relief when she recognized her fellow Colonials and the Earthmen, then shifting to abject horror when she spied the IL with them. She abruptly pointed her weapon at the Cylon. Greenbean and Flight Sergeant Zebulon flanked her, Ensigns Sandor and Elek, along with Dr. Paye, Cassiopeia and Hinnus brought up the rear. "Captain?"

"It's alright, Lieutenant," Apollo motioned, wincing when the movement sent a shooting pain through his arm. Cassie made a direct line for him, her ability to detect pain at twenty metrons, impressive. She briefly squeezed Dayton's hand on her way by, giving him a once over and a warm look. "This is Base Commander Malus. He's . . . changed sides," Apollo added.

"Welcome to my base, Lieutenant," said Malus.

"I see," Deitra replied, but arched an eyebrow. She glanced at Greenbean. "The Cylon might be able to help with that _Abaddon_-class Base Ship we found."

"Base Ship?" Apollo repeated, feeling his chest hitch. He could hear Starbuck muttering expletives just behind him. Boomer seemed to be holding his breath, waiting. In microns, the blonde med tech was standing in front of the strike captain, running a biomonitor over him from head to toe. She spared Starbuck a glance and frowned, obviously taking in his battered appearance. Then she glanced at the biomonitor again. Digging through her med kit, she motioned Hinnus over. "How close is she?"

"She's no threat, Captain," Greenbean clarified. "She's a wreck. We found her adrift, with a huge hole blown in her side. The last I heard, they thought she'd been there for at least a century. The commander's plan is to salvage her, after retrieving any usable data about this quadrant. The team was having trouble accessing her databanks. We didn't have the necessary codes."

"An _Abaddon_-class, you say?" Malus remarked, bowing slightly at the new arrivals. "My Base Ship was an _Abaddon_-class. Very interesting. That might explain why it never returned."

Greenbean hesitated, unsure how to react to being politely addressed by this . . . Cylon.

"What do you think, Mal? Do you know the access codes for your old ship?" Starbuck asked, nodding as Dr. Paye began running a biomonitor over Luana. "Can you help us out?"

"Certainly." Malus replied sardonically. "I live to serve." His electronically-generated sigh was so convincing, it would have been comical anywhere else.

"The rest of Blue Squadron is here too, Captain. We were supposed to rendezvous with Jolly's team." Dietra briefed him, glancing at her chrono. "So far, we haven't met any resistance, but we also haven't found the Control Centre that we're here to take." She held up her portable unit, trying it once more. "Our scanners have been malfunctioning since we entered the cavern."

"Apparently, there are only five Cylons left, Dee," Starbuck added with a smile. "I'd say they're suddenly outgunned."

"Looks like it," agreed the captain.

"Apollo, we've found Cain and his ship," Cassiopeia told him in a whisper, looking sidelong at the IL.

"What?" he hissed in shock, trying to keep his voice down in return.

"I believe the young lady said that they 'found Cain and his ship', Captain Apollo," Malus told him helpfully. He nodded at Cassie. "If you raised your vocal level a decibel, then your fellow Humans would be able to hear you better."

Cassie frowned.

"Have you heard tell of Cain, Malus?" Starbuck asked.

"I have not had the pleasure. But, as I told you, I spent most of my time researching other races. Is he someone of note?"

Apollo nodded at Starbuck, appreciating the misleadingly 'easy-going' lieutenant's attempt to trip the IL up in his story. If the Cylon had truly spent a hundred yahren on the Base, then he wouldn't know who the Juggernaut was. "To our people, yes."

"Apollo, Cain was in bad shape. It started with injuries received during a Cylon attack on the _Pegasus_, and then over a number of sectars, he had multiple strokes, all left untreated. He was having surgery on his brain when I left. It was touch and go," Cassie informed the young captain compassionately. She touched his arm lightly, as he looked torn about what to do next. "Athena was with Sheba, keeping her company. Sheba asked that I tell you."

She wants you to be there . . . It was unspoken, but Apollo could see it reflected in Cassie's blue eyes. He nodded, squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Cassiopeia."

She nodded. "Now let me take care of that arm." The med tech started to lead him away as Hinnus arrived. Starbuck stepped back, giving them a wide berth, a relieved expression on his face.

"Cassiopeia, who's next?" the second level med tech asked.

"Hinnus, assess Lieutenant Starbuck. He looks a little worse for wear." Cassie smiled at the look of dismay that crossed Starbuck's features. "Something wrong, Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine, Cass." Starbuck insisted, purposely ignoring her formal use of his rank. There was a history between these two men. The first time Hinnus had cared for Starbuck in the Life Station, he had mistaken the lieutenant's delirium for his famed cockiness, and had not reacted very professionally. By the time he had recognized that the smart-astrumed, obnoxious officer was completely out of his mind, the warrior had pulled out each and every carefully inserted medical tube in an attempt to escape the immuring confines of his biobed, and go in search of the forbidden elixir known as water. The second time, and several sectars later, the lieutenant had abruptly vomited all over the med tech's tunic, after being insistently pulled into an upright position, when all he had wanted to do was lie down and bury his head beneath the covers.

"You look it." Cassie replied, shaking her head knowingly. "In fact, I haven't seen you looking this good since those Borellian Nomen chased you down a launch tube. Tone, can you help . . .?"

"Can I do anything to help, Cassiopeia?" Dayton stepped in.

"Yes, Mark. You can," Cassie replied, looking at him thoughtfully. The two men had formed a bond, and the younger warrior had a grudging, but unmistakeable, respect for the Earthman. "Tell Starbuck to sit down and let the med tech assess him."

"You heard the lady, Lieutenant." Dayton growled, then squeezed Starbuck's shoulder. The astronaut had been in the Life Station when the inexperienced med tech—formerly from the Prison Barge's Infirmary—and the lieutenant had last met. "Just don't puke on him again. Huh, kid? It really runs up his cleaning bill."

Starbuck groaned, and closed his eyes for an instant, as Tone, Hinnus and Dayton surrounded him. The slight hum of the biomonitor was his only indication that he was being scanned. He took a deep breath, and wished for it to be over quickly, so he could be a part of the attack on the Control Centre. But maybe they could give him something for his headache before that.

"We need to do a toxicology screen. Not that long ago he was delirious. The Cylon was theorizing it might have something to do with the neurotoxin Starbuck and the rest of us were subjected to, and how the lieutenant reacted to it," Tone offered. "He even suggested that the local insecton saliva might somehow counteract the build-up of toxins, which was possibly why no one else was similarly effected. I thought it had more to do with his head injury."

"Neurotoxin on top of a head injury?" Paye frowned, coming over to check the results. "I don't like the sound of that." He handed Hinnus the equipment for a venipuncture, encouraging the young man to take the initiative.

Hinnus took it reluctantly, and absently warned the lieutenant, "Little prick."

Starbuck averted his gaze, wincing slightly as the instrument pierced his skin. "Really, Hinnus. Calling a guy a 'little prick', isn't exactly the best way to instil confidence in your patient. That should have been in your first level training."

Hinnus paused, the burly man meeting the warrior's teasing glance. "Well, if the combat boot fits, Lieutenant . . ."

Starbuck grinned.

The med tech cracked a smile, and returned to his job.

Tone went on to outline the lieutenant's medical history to Dr. Paye since landing on the planet. It was impressive.

"I'm reading moderately high levels of a compound that is eerily similar to DSP7." Paye commented, as he looked over the bloodwork. "I want a tox screen, electrolytes, and hormone levels on everybody."

"Say again." Starbuck murmured, his brow furrowed while Hinnus targeted Dayton as his next victim. "DSP . . ."

"DSP7. It is, or rather it _was,_ a potent little cocktail that hasn't been used for over a century. The desired effect was loss of consciousness, but it had other unexpected side affects. It's processed in the kidneys." Paye paused, as Starbuck's brow knit in discomfort, absently rubbing his temple. "It was also known, more informally, as piiglin. Headache, Lieutenant?"

"I already have one, thanks."

"I'd give you an analgesic, but your body is already filtering enough chemical felgercarb for the time being. You have a slight concussion, but your brain scan is otherwise normal, by the way, if a little diminutive . . ." Paye continued blithely, smiling as the lieutenant did a double take, "The delirium probably had more to do with your kidney's inability to excrete the toxin and to metabolize the resulting cumulative waste products effectively, because of previous renal trauma suffered in the last yahren."

"I thought you said that I'd completely recovered," Starbuck returned a little defensively, while Luana on one side of him blinked once, and Boomer twice.

Cassie muffled a giggle, meeting Apollo's amused gaze. The lieutenant had acquired a basic understanding of medical-ese, as he called it, while helping her study for her levels.

"Your previous renal failure resolved with treatment, but you still had permanent damage to your nephrons, Lieutenant." Paye continued. "That left you more susceptible than people with a fully functional set of kidneys." He rolled his eyes at Starbuck's scowl of displeasure. "Suffering sweet Sagan, you warriors really believe that each and every time you get ill or injured, that we can just routinely patch you up again, as good as new, and send you back to active duty. Don't you? For crying out loud, you aren't Cylons!"

"Ahem!" inserted Malus.

"Well, Life Station does imply something along that line. . ." Starbuck replied lightly, but was unable to hold the physician's intense gaze for too long. "Uh . . .what exactly does this mean to my career?"

"Here's Commander Dayton's result, Dr. Paye," Hinnus interrupted, handing over his biomonitor.

"Your career." Paye shook his head a little sadly. "It puts you at risk, Starbuck. Much like crashing Vipers and getting shot at by Cylons. Something to be aware of, but you can continue to ignore it until it comes up again." Paye told him with a pronounced professional detachment. The physician was at a point in his career where he had wearied of saving the lives of brave young men and women, only to have them return soon after discharge with yet another injury, all in the name of duty. He kept a mental tally of how many times he'd had to use everything in his bag of tricks and wealth of medical knowledge to cheat the gods . . . or Diabolis . . .of one more soul seemingly eager to meet his end. Simply put, Paye needed a break. If he was still on Caprica he might be able to get it at some privatized Adipose Clinic, giving advice and lip service to overweight and bored women with more cubits than willpower. Ironically though, obesity hadn't been much of an issue in the Fleet. He glanced at the readouts, letting out a breath. "Better. The levels are much lower and quite acceptable." He nodded in satisfaction.

"So insecton bites had nothing to do with the delirium." Tone looked at the IL. "Or the head injury. That was just the point at which his body reacted to the accumulation of waste products?"

"My first guess would have been neurological as well, Tone." Paye reassured the med tech. "And without the biomonitor to rule it out, I can see why you were leaning that way."

"I was unaware of Starbuck's medical history, I'm afraid. I can only offer theories based on the information that I'm given," Malus stated. "After all, we never had the opportunity to run any scans of our own on him."

"Lords be praised," muttered Starbuck.

"Are we done here already, Cassie?" Apollo asked, testing his arm after she removed the portable Bone Mender.

She nodded. "The new and improved model. You only had a hairline fracture, so it didn't take as long." She slid it back into her case.

"Okay. Dr. Paye, what's the word? Is everyone fit for duty?" Apollo asked, unable to prevent himself from looking at Starbuck. He looked a little distracted by Paye's news, then obviously felt Apollo's gaze upon him, and his features immediately transformed into his usual confident façade as he met the searching stare. "We have a Control Centre to attack."

"From what I've seen, Captain." Paye replied monotone.

"Greenbean, you brought some extra fire power. Good man." Starbuck ventured, eying the extra laser on his hip and the hand-deployed charges fastened to his gun belt. He motioned with his hand. "Gimme."

The other warriors also handed out their extra weapons, as the small group prepared themselves once again.

"Let's move out!" Apollo threw back over his shoulder, eager to get this over with and rejoin Sheba aboard the _Galactica_.

No one noticed the pile of rubble in the corridor shift, or the faint drone that started from within.

xxxxxxxxxx

Duty rosters for both pilots and Bridge personnel; the latest on the condition of their remaining Vipers and shuttles; repair work that was either completed, in progress or deferred until the necessary scrap metal and supplies were available; current fuel needs; chronic food shortages; a waste recycling system near to collapse; defensive weaponry; the lack of a Life Station and medical personnel . . .

Sheba closed her eyes and groaned, taking a break from the compilation of data that she had been studying for what seemed like yahrens, but was only a couple centars. Lords, there had been so much neglected, so much ignored, and so much left in disrepair that the immense job of putting the _Pegasus_ back together again—contrary to what she had told her father—seemed insurmountable. Even if she had a fully equipped spacedock, with all the supplies and crew she needed. . . which she didn't.

"Why don't you take a break, Captain? How long has it been since you slept anyhow? A couple days?" Lieutenant Roz lightly touched her shoulder. The lieutenant looked out through the immense viewport on the _Pegasus_' Bridge, and let out a faint breath as she looked at the Fleet. As she watched, a Hauler from the Foundry Ship was veering away from the Battlestar, hoppers filled with scrap cut away from the wrecked areas. Soon, she hoped, the metal would be back, recycled into hull plates and ready to put into place as repairs progressed. On one monitor, she could see workers in suits, attacking the damaged sections of the hull. She rubbed her eyes, then looked back at her strike captain.

Sheba attempted to dredge up a smile, but just didn't have it in her. "Do I look that bad?"

"Yes." Roz grinned. "If you keep on going the way you are, we'll strap you to our nose, and just scare away all the Cylons between here and Earth."

"Sounds like something Bojay would say," Sheba smiled, wishing her friend and wingmate could be at her side now. _ He_ had a knack for cutting through the felgercarb, and making the complicated simplistic. But the Abaddon Base Ship was still a centar away.

"Well, I did tell him that I'd keep an eye on you," Roz admitted, with a dreamy gaze which made it apparent that the young warrior had momentarily left the realm of reality to think about her budding relationship with the lanky pilot. Who could blame her? "So I guess some friendly criticism is part of the responsibility."

"There's a lot here to get done, Roz." Sheba waved a hand at the screen, and shook her head. "Even if we were back home, the sheer amount of work needed. . . Lords, we'd probably be sent to the scrap yard."

"Ha!" Roz scoffed. "Cain would never permit it. He'd bark in ears from the lowliest salvage man right up to the top brass, until everybody from Caprica to Virgon thought that the most important task in the Twelve Worlds was restoring the _Pegasus_ to her former Cylon-annihilating glory." Her eyes seemed to sparkle, as though she could picture it all. "Then he'd plan the parade."

Sheba smiled slightly, nodding her agreement. "But he's not quite up for that now. So it all falls on me . . ."

"Want to tell me why you're so intent on doing it yourself? Don't you know that one of the finer qualities of a good leader is the ability to delegate appropriate tasks to the people qualified to complete them?" Roz leaned against the control panel, combing a hand through her dark hair.

Sheba sniffed. "I guess I feel like I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I'm up to the demands of the job."

Roz arched an eyebrow. "Really? Are you sure you aren't proving it your father? Or possibly Captain Apollo?"

Sheba dropped her eyes, avoiding Roz's gaze for the moment, and chewing on her lip as she thought about that. As much as nobody liked to discuss it openly, historically, women in the Colonial Service had fought long and hard for command positions. Few had worn the insignia of a Battlestar commander, and none had _ever_ made strike captain at Sheba's comparatively young age. Some claimed it was blatant sexism, others explained that few such candidates for command met the crushing demands. Then there was the fact that only about a third of all recruits were women. But whatever the reasons, here she was, acting as temporary executive officer as well as ship's CO. It was quite the accomplishment professionally. However, she knew that in this case her bloodline was the biggest part of her promotion. She had approached her father, knowing that his need to maintain some semblance of control of the _Pegasus_ during his recovery, would push him into accepting her proposal. And that's exactly how every other warrior in the Fleet would view it. She'd have to prove to each and every one of them that she was worthy of her current rank and responsibilities, and that meant doing it by herself. . .

"You're doing two jobs, Sheba. And both of them are new to you. You need some help." Roz sighed as she recognized that stubborn tilt to the other's chin. "C'mon, it seems obvious to me. Why can't _you_ see it?"

That's when it abruptly hit Cain's daughter . . .

"You've been acting as strike captain since the commander was injured. Haven't you, Roz?"

"Give the lady the big, stuffed daggit on the top shelf!" Roz grinned. "You got it."

Sheba frowned, feeling a little guilty that she hadn't even considered that someone had been acting as squadron leader this whole time . . . but the fact that there hadn't _been_ any squadrons to lead had erased the possibility from her mind. "Why didn't you just _tell_ me that I was taking your job?"

"Because, frankly, at the time, you were welcome to it. But with news about that wrecked Cylon Base Ship, with all that lovely scrap metal on the way, not to mention finding the Fleet again, and now Commander Cain's successful surgery, well, let's just say that I've had a change of heart. We also need to redistribute and reorganize the fighters and pilots between the Battlestars, once we're ready for flight operations again. You worry about repairs and infrastructure, I'll handle reshuffling the pilots. At least for now, until Commander Cain decides who his new executive officer is going to be."

Sheba nodded slowly. "I wonder who he'll choose . . ."

"There are a few captains out there—Apollo, Bojay, Dorado—but I'd say the forerunner is Captain Apollo. Do you think he'd accept the promotion if it meant him transferring to the _Pegasus_?"

"Lords, I never even _considered_ that as a possibility . . ." Sheba returned, hope flickering to life at the thought of Apollo joining Cain's ship. With her as Strike Captain, and him as executive officer on the Bridge, they might just be able to separate their personal and private lives, not being under each other's feet constantly while on duty. And while the thought that they could maintain a relationship while on two different Battlestars was a possibility, it was also a bit of a pipedream.

"Sheba, I do believe you're glowing," Roz teased her.

"You may be right," Sheba grinned. She picked up a data pad. "Now, let's get to work."

xxxxxxxxxx

The last time Starbuck had been in the Base's Control Centre, it had been as a prisoner of the Cylons, so the elation was indescribable when he burst into the area guarded and 'manned' by three centurions as part of a Colonial task force. Laser fire filled the room as the warriors flooded into the room from two different directions, engaging the enemy in a deadly crossfire. Within microns, the Cylons were a smouldering heap of scrap metal, and the Colonials had suffered no casualties.

"Jolly! I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see you!" Starbuck grinned as Lia rushed forward to embrace Lu.

"You too, Bucko," Jolly slapped a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder, looking him over and shaking his head in amusement. "I was beginning to think I had a chance of winning at Pyramid for a change, but it looks like that famous luck of yours is holding, after all."

"What can I say?" Starbuck grinned, then paused as he saw Dayton standing before the enormous data screen, starring at the black and white pomon with a symbolic bite out of it in apparent bewilderment. "What?" he asked the Earthman. "Dayton?"

"For the love of Pete . . ." Dayton breathed, scratching his head and looking at Baker. "It's a Mac! It's a bloody Mac!"

"It means something to you?" Malus moved forward, coming to a halt beside the astronaut. He looked from the Human, to the terminal and the cursed screen, then back to Dayton. "Commander?"

"I don't bloody believe it . . ." Dayton continued to mutter, startling when he felt an insistent tug on his arm.

"I need to talk to you. Urgently." Lia hissed. "A message from Ryan."

"But . . ." Dayton motioned towards the screen, reluctant to be dragged away, even for a message from his best friend.

The Empyrean Princess dragged harder.

"Just a minute, Beacon Brain . . ." Dayton conceded, nodding at Malus, while letting Lia lead him away. He frowned when Starbuck and Luana appeared at his other elbow. Meanwhile, Apollo curiously watched the four of them move away while debriefing Dietra and Jolly.

"What's going on?" the Starbuck asked Lia. He just had a niggling feeling he should be in on this, and the fact that Lia looked relieved at his presence only reinforced that feeling.

"Ryan said that you need to get them down here too, Dayton." Lia whispered, though the din in the room was such that no one else could possibly hear them. "Him, Porter and especially Dickins."

"What?" Dayton's brow furled.

"Why?" Starbuck shook his head, then sighed, "Does this have something to do with Ama?"

"Let her talk." Luana inserted, looking from one man to the other impatiently.

"Look, while you were all down here, Dickins ended up in an altercation on the _Rising Star. __Apparently,_ Sire Uri was involved. I don't know all the details, but Cassiopeia was there. I'm sure she can fill you in when we have more time, but the end result was that Dick tried to kill himself."

"What?" Dayton gasped, feeling his heart drop into his boots. He tried to catch Cassiopeia's eye, realizing his only exchanges with her were a sentence or two, while they were both focussed on other things. Saving lives, and killing Cylons, respectively.

Lia grabbed his arm, "He's okay. But Ama's had a vision that if Dickins can make it down to this planet, he will be going back to Earth. It's his destiny."

"That doesn't make any sense, Lia." Dayton disputed. "Look, you're a nice kid, but how could . . .?"

Lia tightened her grip in exasperation. "I can't explain it, Dayton, but Ryan believed it. If anything, that alone should convince you it's possible. There's nobody more sceptical than Ryan."

"This is crazy. Stark-raving crazy." Dayton muttered.

"Welcome to my life." Starbuck muttered, raking his hand through his hair, and looking between the sisters.

"This is serious, Starbuck," Lia reprimanded him. "Sagan's socks, Dickins tried to kill himself. Ryan was willing to hijack a shuttle and kidnap Councillors to ensure safe passageway just to get Dickins down here. He really believes that the man will do himself in if he doesn't get home. We need to get them down here, before Ryan's back in the Brig, and Dickins is up on additional charges."

"Why was Ryan in the Brig? What charges?" Dayton asked, letting out a breath when Lia shook her head at him insinuating the long story could wait.

"Sagan's socks?" Starbuck repeated simultaneously, rolling his eyes at the phrase, before adding, "That's not the part I'm having trouble with, Lia. It's how he's going to get home. It's impossible. Earth is God knows how many light-yahrens from here, and we . . ."

"Impossible, like Empyrean curses, mind reading, the Fires of Truth, and foretelling the future?" Lia smiled enigmatically. It was clear she believed it could happen.

"And Beings like John?" Dayton added, mulling it all over. "He's involved in this. Right up to his pristine white collar. Oh, yeah."

"Uh . . .yeah." Starbuck frowned, looking between the two. Since meeting the Empyreans and finding himself irretrievably swept into their lives, he'd seen all those impossibilities that Lia mentioned come true, and a few more . . . but he was still struggling with it. The Colonial Academy just hadn't prepared him for this sort of thing! And when you added the Ship of Lights and John into the mix, it only made everything _more_ complicated. His rational mind just couldn't accept the inconceivable. "Just like all that." He sighed, glancing at Dayton. "What do you think?"

"I know it doesn't make much sense, but sometimes when Destiny comes calling, superheroes have to answer that call, Faceman." The Earthman smiled, then grasped Starbuck by the arms, his face abruptly serious again. "Look, Dick's family to me, kid. Like Apollo is to you. I can't begin to explain it, but it's like we share a part of each other's lives. I . . .I gotta get him down here. I have to help him." Grey eyes begged for understanding. "Especially if what Lia said about him potentially going home is true. I have to take that chance. Like Ryan, I'd do whatever I have to in order to make it happen, but it would sure be a helluva lot easier with your help, Starbuck."

How well Starbuck knew that burning need to help a friend that overcame all else, but still . . . "I don't like it, Dayton. It makes about as much sense as . . . as that symbol on the screen being here." Starbuck muttered, indicating the pomon. He was absolutely certain it was something he'd seen in relation to the Earthmen. Some little gadget. "Care to explain?"

Dayton released him with a sigh. "It was the logo for Apple, a huge American-founded, multi-national corporation that specialized in computers, electronics and software in my time." He shrugged. "I have no idea why it's here, but it does suggest that my people were involved somehow with the creation of this planet. Don't you think?"

"You told me that your people were scientifically retarded." Starbuck returned.

"I'm not sure that I remember putting it quite that way." Dayton returned, crossing his arms over his chest. "But yes, they certainly weren't terraforming planets. At least, other than in the movies. Not when we left."

"Then they either had help, or your people have advanced far past your time period." Luana inserted.

"Yeah, but which?" Lia countered.

"You mentioned John, Dayton. He hasn't come calling on you again, has he?" Starbuck asked, trying to make the pieces fit.

"On me? No." The older man rubbed his chin, thinking about it. "But . . . I wonder . . . maybe on Ryan? Or Dickins? I don't see either of those guys buying into this unless they had their world shaken and stirred."

"Ryan told me it was Ama that convinced him. He didn't mention anyone else." Lia replied, as she watched Apollo and Boomer huddled over the small computer station below the massive screen. A vaguely familiar line of symbols replaced the pomon on the screen, but she couldn't understand them. "Maybe the answers are here, just waiting for us to . . ."

"Unearth them?" Dayton grinned, raising an eyebrow at the screen, and then letting out a breath. "Those symbols . . .that's English. My mother language . . . although Ryan might argue otherwise." He smiled. "It's prompting them for a password."

"So . . . theoretically, you could access the data in those memory banks?" Starbuck asked, his pulse quickening as he recognized more than a few symbols on the screen from the movies and documentaries he had seen among the disks salvaged from the _Endeavour_.

Dayton blinked. "Well, I was more of a 'Windows man' myself, but Dick . . ." he nodded, smiling at his sudden brainstorm. "Now, Dick knew his way around a Mac better than Jobs and Wozniak."

"In Standard, Dayton." Starbuck groused.

"I am speaking standard, you just need to clear the grinds out of your ears, Light Note." Dayton replied. "Look, if we tell the captain that Dick is our expert on Macs," He nodded up at the screen, "then Apollo will support him coming down here."

"Are you saying that Dick is your expert, or that you just want me to tell Apollo that?" Apollo did everything by the book. And the book didn't have any regs dealing with soothsayers, or people from alternate dimensions, not to mention people operating bizarre alien computer keyboards. The warrior searched Dayton's face, hoping the other man would give him the answer he wanted, no matter whether or not it was true. Misleading Apollo knowingly was one thing, blissful ignorance was another altogether. It was a fine line really, but one he had artfully balanced on for a lifetime.

"What do you think?" Dayton replied knowingly.

"Damn you, Dayton," Starbuck huffed, turning away. The Earthman was going to make him choose. He glanced over at his best friend, wondering exactly how he should handle this. What he should say. How much he should reveal. And how much to keep to himself. He sighed, turning back to the others. "I'm going to talk to Apollo."

"Yeah, but what are you going to say?" Dayton asked, his concern evident. "From what they

. . ." he nodded towards the other warriors, "told us, those Dynamos are getting set up for something. Time may not be our biggest commodity here."

Starbuck shrugged, walking the other way. "I'm going to make it up as I go along."

"I'm not sure I like that approach."

"Really? It's my personal favourite." Starbuck returned over his shoulder with a carefree grin.

"Figures."

Somehow, it was if Apollo was expecting him. The captain turned from where he was leaning over Boomer's shoulder, and watched Starbuck's approach. He casually rested a hand on his weapon, which was never a good sign. The strike captain was mentally preparing himself to do battle.

"What's going on?" Apollo asked, his gaze flickering to Dayton and company who were trying to appear uninterested in what was going on, but were failing miserably as they took turns casting surreptitious looks in Starbuck's direction, while simultaneously filling Baker in on what was happening.

Starbuck winced, internally groaning. "Look . . . this is going to sound crazy, but I have to come clean with you. You're just going to have to trust me on this."

Apollo set his jaw, looking back and forth once more. Then he took Starbuck by the arm, and steered him further away from the others. Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded, "Okay. Let's have it."

"Okay?" He realized it sounded a bit stupid, but he hadn't expected it to be that easy.

"It wouldn't be the first time in our friendship you told me something that sounded crazy, and turned out to be true, buddy." Apollo shrugged, a faint smile of amusement lighting his features. "Out with it."

Yeah, this was Apollo. Starbuck had almost forgotten for a moment. His friend would listen, judge what he heard on its merit, and then consider the source. When cards and cubits weren't involved, Starbuck was an excellent source. The lieutenant nodded, letting out a breath, "Well, it's like this . . . we need the rest of the Earthmen down here to help with accessing . . ."

"Captain!" shouted Malus.

Then at that instant, a glimmer of highly polished metal caught Starbuck's eye from the edge of the access tunnel. A Gold centurion was raising its arm . . . no, not its arm, but its weapon, and aiming it straight at Apollo's back. Abruptly, Starbuck hollered out another warning, as he grabbed the captain by his flight jacket, pivoting and throwing him to the side. Fire engulfed the lieutenant's right side. His breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground beneath Apollo. Laser fire filled the air, and wide, green eyes, stared into his in surprise.

"You okay?" Apollo asked, shaking his head and then biting his lip at the smell of charred flesh, so similar to that time on Kobol. "Starbuck?" his voice sounded choked, as he began to check over his friend. "Please Lord, not again . . . Med tech!"

Starbuck tried to reply, tried to assure him he was fine, but the burning that had started in his side, now seemed to intensify and radiate outward until his chest, abdomen and back were a searing pathway of agony. Lords, maybe he wasn't fine after all. And he couldn't even admit it to Tone. He groaned, wondering absently where the blood that coated Apollo's raised hand had suddenly come from. His vision was narrowing as catching his breath became increasingly difficult. He raised a hand, trying to clear the blur before his eyes. Apollo looked really worried, in a hazy kind of way . . . That couldn't be good . . . He closed his eyes, as lancing pain shot threw him once again making breathing an arduous chore and, therefore, optional.

"Stay with me, buddy," Apollo begged him, before again yelling, "Med Tech!"


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Cassiopeia! No!" Dayton hollered as the blonde med tech rushed towards Starbuck and Apollo, despite the fact that the Gold Cylon was still advancing on the warriors. Typically, she didn't listen. What was it about women and listening? Was it some mysterious, internal gene that clicked on and off at inopportune moments? Dayton fired again on the centurion that looked like some gilded, bulky, high-glossed, deranged Transformer. Again, his bullets bounced off the Cyborg like rain off a windshield. His Colt was useless. Around him, the other warriors were firing their Colonial weapons which were making all the impact of spit balls. The Cylon continued to advance, dragging one foot, his weapon aimed at Apollo.

Apollo gritted his teeth, his laser grasped tightly in his left hand despite the futility of impotent shots. His other hand rested lightly on Starbuck, trying to offer him some reassurance despite the direness of the situation. Starbuck's chest was heaving, as he took short, gasping breaths. A drawn out groan escaped his lips, and his back arched reflexively, trying to escape the pain. The initial shock of the event was ebbing, and now the agony had him immured within its fury. "Easy, Starbuck, help is on the way."

Footfall after footfall, the centurion kept coming, but for some reason, it hadn't fired again. The red eye scanned back and forth, as it steadily advanced. Cassie suddenly dropped to her knees beside Starbuck, and hastily applied a life mask to the gasping warrior. She absently smoothed back tangled, dark, blond hair from the lieutenant's forehead before holding her biomonitor over him. A wary glance at the approaching Cylon, then she was rolling the warrior away from her, jerking up his tunic and ripping away the remnants of his pressure suit. She slapped a field dressing to the bloody, pulpy mess just below his right shoulder, continuing on as if the deadly enemy bearing down on them was just a figment of her imagination. Suddenly, Luana, Boomer, Dayton and Jolly formed a wall between the downed warrior and the Cylon, hitting the killing machine with a concentrated barrage of laser fire.

"What the Hades Hole is this thing made of?" shouted Jolly.

"It has reinforced armour!" Luana returned.

"No mong!"

Starbuck let out a choking noise, his body trembling. Cassie pulled him back towards her, gazing into his eyes. "Don't you dare stop breathing, Starbuck, or I'll kill you myself . . ." She murmured, applying her hypospray to his neck. Pain-filled blue eyes flickered open, but there was no recognition in them. "You've got a wedding to make it to, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you get out of it . . ." He blinked at that, shaking his head as if disputing her words, then another wave of pain hit him and he groaned aloud. She glanced over at Apollo, then bit her lip, glancing back down at her patient, and frowning briefly at the readouts on her monitor. Then she shouted over her shoulder, "Dr. Paye! I need you here! Now!" She barked off her demand like a drill sergeant, but her voice was again controlled and calm, as she told Apollo, "We need to slow the bleeding down. He needs more than a pressure dressing." She dosed the lieutenant with a potent narcotic again.

The Cylon stumbled, and came to a halt. Still, the heavy assault didn't so much as dent the reinforced armour. It raised its prosthetic weapon, fanning the line of warriors back and forth as if choosing which one it should exterminate first.

"Frack! Cassie, it's still after me. I have to draw its fire. . ." Apollo's eyes darted back and forth between his warriors, the centurion and Starbuck, whose eyes were rolling up in silent surrender. Whether that was in reaction to blood loss, narcotics, or the pain, the captain wasn't sure. As much as Apollo hated to leave his best friend's side at a time like this, he was only putting everybody at risk by staying. Cassie nodded once, in understanding. Then the warrior leapt away, bolting for the shelter of a Cylon computer bank.

The centurion abruptly changed tack, and once again pursued the captain, ignoring the line of warriors still firing on him. Bursts of laser fire flew from its weapon, and Apollo dodged from side to side erratically, trying to evade his enemy's aim. He lunged over the control panel, feeling a searing heat hit his hip as he tumbled to the ground. He grunted in pain, reflexively pressing on the area. Beneath his fingers, his skin was hot and already blistered, but remarkably intact. At least for the moment. It was superficial, thank the Lords, but it still hurt like Hades hole. Apollo glanced upward. Laser fire was flying over his head, pinning him down, trapping him in the narrow space behind the computer bank. There was no escape.

"Try and hit its eye slit!" shouted Dayton, recalling his success earlier in taking out several of the machines. "It might be the only way."

"Can't . . ." said Apollo. He tried to raise up over the edge of the increasingly ravaged machinery, but the other kept him pinned down. "The sensor. . ."

"Fire in the hole!" Baker's voice rang out.

Dayton hit the ground, groaning aloud when everybody else looked at Baker in confusion. He'd lapsed back into English again. "Get down, for Christ's sake! Solenite charge! God, don't you people have a word for 'grenade'?"

They hit the dirt, those having the opportunity to seek shelter, taking it.

At the same time, Baker lobbed the charge at the centurion, diving to the ground, and putting his hands over his head. The charge rolled to a stop, and the centurion paused for a moment, looking down to see what it was.

The explosion rocked the Control Centre, and the room filled with smoke and debris.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Put me on Unicom, please." Adama ordered, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out the viewport of the Bridge.

Omega handed him the microphone, "Unicom, Commander."

"Thank you." He gripped the mic, glancing at the navigation board as he did so. "People of the Fleet, this is Commander Adama. We have come across an old, derelict Cylon Base Ship which we have recovered, and will be utilizing to do some much needed repairs throughout the Fleet. I don't want you to be alarmed when she appears in your viewports, sometime in the next fifteen centons. Our own Colonial Warriors are at her helm, as well as providing a Viper escort, and our Salvage Haulers will be guiding her into position just off the Hephaestus. Thank you." He handed it back to Omega. "Unicom out."

"Yes, sir."

"I never thought I'd see this day . . ." Athena murmured from her station.

Adama nodded quietly. He never thought he would either.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Did it work?" Boomer muttered with a groan. "Please tell me that it worked."

The Gold Cylon was on the ground in a crumpled heap, the area around it was a smouldering hole in the ground where the brunt of the explosion had hit. The centurion wasn't moving, and there was no telling red light on the helmet. The only one still standing was Malus. He appeared strangely unaffected by it all, and for a moment the Earth commander wondered if perhaps he had treated himself to some condensed tylinium after trying it out on his obsessive centurion. Dayton crawled to Boomer's side, to find him sucking in a breath between gritted teeth, blood trickling between fingers that were clenched around his upper arm. "Shrapnel?" The warrior frowned, and Dayton tried to remember the Colonial Standard equivalent.

"Yeah . . ." Boomer breathed, nodding as he figured out what the Earthman meant. He looked back to where Cassie, and now Dr. Paye, were huddled over Starbuck. Luana was on her knees, her head bowed and touching Starbuck's intimately, as she murmured reassurances to her man. Boomer vaguely recalled her throwing herself in that direction—no doubt intent on providing some kind of cover to Starbuck—just before the solenite charge blew. He cleared his voice, calling out, "Is everybody okay?" The captain was conspicuously absent. "Apollo?"

Apollo gripped the top of the control panel, pulling himself to his feet. It was not an easy task in a space only about a third of a metron wide. He bit back a groan as his burnt flesh objected at the movement. "I'm okay. Everybody else?" One by one he quickly counted off the others. They all appeared either unharmed, or had sustained only minor shrapnel wounds from the solenite charge. Med techs Tone and Hinnus were already springing into action. The captain's gaze came to rest on his best friend. The man had probably saved his life, and not for the first time. "How's Starbuck?"

"He's holding his own," Paye replied, still leaning over the young man who was positioned on his side, his wound exposed. Discarded clothing and medical instruments alongside were covered with the warrior's blood. The physician reapplied a dressing while his trusted med tech dosed the lieutenant with the hypospray again. Then Cassie adjusted the medical equipment that was replacing vital fluids. Luana was cradling Starbuck's head in her lap while she watched the exercise, her own features pale and drawn. "That pulse rifle blast tore right through the tissue, muscle and bone below his shoulder and penetrated his abdominal cavity, but I've managed to cauterise the worst of the bleeders. I'm still finishing up here."

Apollo let out a breath, closing his eyes in relief, before limping towards them.

"Captain, you're injured," Lia rushed to his side.

"Nothing serious," he replied, brushing aside her concern. Jolly abruptly flanked him, offering his support.

"Well, the _wound_ may not be serious, but that gaping hole in the ass of your pants is." Dayton informed him from behind.

Apollo paused, glancing over at the rueful grin on the astronaut's face. It was that familiar nervous tension which transformed into light-hearted "thank God we're all alive" banter after a battle. Apparently, it was the same across the universe. Apollo glanced at Jolly, who was grinning in amusement, but averting his gaze all the same. Evidently, the lieutenant had also noticed his partially exposed state. The captain smiled in return, shaking his head slightly. His dignity was a small price to pay, in exchange for escaping a deadly laser volley from a pulse-rifle. Another glance at his bleeding friend reinforced that. "Get me a tailor, Dayton, on the double."

Dayton snorted and slapped him on the shoulder, joining him as they checked on Starbuck. As if he knew they were there, the lieutenant's eyes flickered open, peaking out at them behind the life mask. He blinked a couple times, as though he was having trouble focussing.

Apollo kneeled down beside him, gripping his hand and squeezing it. "How are you doing, buddy?"

Starbuck tried to raise his head and nodded, wincing at even that slight movement. However, at least he seemed more settled, and wasn't gasping for every breath. Cassiopeia immediately gave him more analgesic. His eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled, dropping limply back onto Lu's lap.

"How are you holding up, Luana?" Apollo asked the ensign softly.

She sniffed, gently stroking Starbuck's hair, her eyes not leaving his pale face. "I hate Cylons," she whispered.

It was her first experience with the ruthless machines that were trying to exterminate the Human race. It had to be horrifying, even to a woman who had been welded into a waste pipe, and left to die by a fellow Human, not that many sectars ago.

Lia suddenly appeared behind her, her arms wrapping around her sister, simply holding her. "We'll get through this."

Luana nodded, the simple words and embrace, apparently all she needed for the moment.

"Can we move him?" Apollo asked Dr. Paye. "Get him back to the medical shuttle?"

"Not quite yet. I want his pain controlled, and the bleeding stopped before I move him. He's not stable yet."

"But he will be." It took a huge amount of effort to keep the doubt from his voice, gazing down at the ashen Viper pilot, and then at Luana.

Paye nodded. "He will be. As soon as that happens, I start the regeneration treatments."

Apollo nodded, taking a steadying breath before getting back to business, "How many centurions are unaccounted for? Jolly? Did your team come across any?"

"Two in the tunnel," the lieutenant replied. "We took out both of them without incident."

"That's them all." Dayton nodded, looking at Malus who was watching the group curiously. "Right, Lighthouse Lid?"

"That is correct, Commander Dayton. I admit I find it curious your use of alliteration when you insult me. Is it symbolic somehow, or merely pleasing to the Human ear?"

"You really know how to take all the pleasure out of a cheap shot, don't you, Torch Top?" Dayton looked down at Apollo. "Can we contact the _Galactica_ and send for the clean-up crew?"

"Clean-up crew?" Jolly asked.

"The research guys, my men included. I don't know if Starbuck got around to it, Captain, but he was going to tell you that my guys know their way around this technology." He pointed up at the massive screen, displaying the alien language. "That's ours. From Earth. Dickins, Ryan and Porter specialized in Apple Electronics. Those boys know their Braeburns and Gravensteins from their Macintoshes and York Imperials. Not only that, but they know what to do with a Rhode Island Greening when you're all out of brown sugar and cinnamon, better than any technicians I've seen this side of the Big Apple."

Apollo's brow furrowed as the Earthmen bombarded him with Earth-speak, relevant to the foreign technology. It was a damn good thing there was somebody there who could make sense of it all. They needed some answers. "He was just getting around to it, Dayton, when that frackin' Cylon showed up." He let out a breath, that moment in time replaying in his mind, when Starbuck selflessly shoved him out of the way, only to become the centurion's victim in his stead.

"Oh, no." Malus suddenly exclaimed, his sensors picking up an energy reading from the formerly defunct centurion. A micron later, and the red eye was trained on them. "Here we go again!"

"Take cover!"

xxxxxxxxxx

A man who had made a study of reading body language in order to manipulate people and situations to his own benefit, couldn't miss the Empyrean Necromancer's uncharacteristic silence as she continued to watch over the Earthmen—Ryan, Dickins and Porter—while the landing team awaited word from the Bridge.

"What is it? What's wrong, Ama?" Chameleon took her arm, guiding her away from the others. The launch bay was a hubbub of activity, which was normal, according to everything that Starbuck had told him.

"Whatever do you mean, Chameleon?" Her features were now carefully composed. She glanced back disapprovingly at Ryan, who was slipping a flask to Dickins. The Earthman nodded his thanks. Ama closed her eyes, muttered something under her breath, and blew out a long breath between her teeth. She opened her eyes to see Dickins spewing out the contents over the deck, growling at Ryan, "It's water!" She smiled triumphantly at Ryan's bewildered expression before returning her attention to Chameleon.

"Something's wrong. Something's happened." He stated it flatly, without doubt. Then, "Hasn't it?" Ama's lips tightened ever so slightly, the fine lines around her eyes creased just a tiny bit more in response to his questions. "Is it Starbuck?"

"By the Goddess Triquetra, Chameleon, if I didn't know better, I'd say you had some powers of necromancy yourself." Ama replied, looking at him with renewed respect. "Have you been peeking at my crystalline orb?"

"My powers of observation may not be cosmic, but I can tell when something's bothering you, my dear lady." He spared a look back at Dickins. With a plain look of disgust, the Earthman was now sipping gingerly from the proffered flask, keeping the contents _inside_, rather than outside. "And something has you worried."

She nodded at that. "I detected a waning of Starbuck's life force . . . but . . ."

"But . . ." he encouraged her when she hesitated, even as his guts wrenched at the news. _Lords, not again! What did it take to keep that boy out of trouble?_

"It seems stronger now." Ama reassured him.

"Are you certain?" Chameleon asked. Fear gripped his heart at the thought that his son might very well be dying on some God-forsaken, nameless planet, beyond his reach. By the Lillium Moons, why couldn't he have been an accountant?

"I am." Ama squeezed his arm. "I suppose it's the simple fact that I had no warning of it, Chameleon, that has me a little rattled."

"Ah. I see." Chameleon nodded. "Even with your celestial contacts . . ." he glanced upwards with a faint smile, "sometimes you're no further ahead than the rest of us about foretelling the fate of a loved one."

"It's rather humbling, dearest. But, yes. It's true."

"I imagine it must be," he nodded. "But you are only Human, after all."

She smiled enigmatically. "That's what they keep tell me."

"Siress Ama?" said a deckhand, approaching.

"I'm no 'Siress', my dear. A Councilwoman and a Necromancer, but no 'Siress'." Ama hastily corrected him.

"Uh, well, we just got word from the Bridge. The shuttle needs to prepare to launch. Commander Adama wants the team ready to go when word comes from the planet."

"Thank you, uh. . .Airedale," she smiled, and they moved to board. As they passed by Dickins, she could hear him snarling at a Ryan who had plainly just finished professing his innocence.

"Yeah, yeah, Ryan. Hooch into water. I heard you the first time. I wasn't born yesterday, you know." Dickins rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Dick, I swear . . ."

"Listen, just warn me next time, will ya? I'm getting too old for a shock like that."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Well, there are some things a man just can't run away from." Dayton muttered by rote as the task force went on the defensive once again. There had to be some way . . . Then it hit him like a stagecoach. He grabbed Dietra, turning her around and digging through her pack, finding within what he was looking for. She continued to fire on the killing machine, providing covering fire.

"What the devil are you doing, Dayton?" She hollered back at him.

"The usual, Dee. Saving Humanity." He hastily prepared his acquired gear.

The centurion was rising to its feet, its prosthetic weapon firing randomly this time, as though its obsession with killing Captain Apollo was abruptly forgotten after temporarily shutting down. Maybe the damage was finally piling up?

Dayton winced as one of the ensigns, and then a second, neither of whose names he recalled, were hit squarely in the chest from a pulse-rifle blast. It didn't look like either of them would be getting up again. Ever. Still, medical personnel scurried towards them, disregarding their own personal safety while trying to help those who were already likely dead. Med tech Hinnus was the next to fall as the golden Terminator blasted away again. It was with slightly confused emotions that the Earthman noticed Cassiopeia sticking with Starbuck while Paye darted towards an ensign. Dayton's lady had a weapon in her hand—probably the injured warrior's—and was guarding him alongside Luana with the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cubs. He didn't necessarily like that implication, still, for an instant, it reminded him that Starbuck had once threatened Dayton with bodily damage should the astronaut do anything to hurt his former lover. Perhaps that allegiance worked both ways? The astronaut dragged his attention back to the matter at hand.

Dayton pulled the solenite charge that Dietra had given him off his belt. The centurion had its back to him, so there was a slight chance, however small, that this might actually work. With a snarl of determination he threw himself towards the centurion, releasing the safety, but keeping his thumb on the lever. The barrage of Colonial laser fire abruptly ceased as Dayton wedged the solenite charge beneath the back of the Cylon's helmet—where there was a corrugated connector but no apparent body armour—and secured it with a strip of duct tape. The Cylon began to turn. "What's the matter, Metalhead? Am I getting under your skin?"

_"Colonial-Warriors-have-penetrated-the-base__,__"_ droned the machine. _"Must-terminate-__Colonial-Warr. . ."_

"You're the one that's terminated, you cycloptic freak!" Dayton released the lever, leaping away, diving to the ground, and shouting, "Fire in the hole!"

In Colonial Standard.

Again, everybody dived for relative safety, as the Base rocked with the explosion.

xxxxxxxxxx

A gnarled, stiff, _treacherous_ lump of flesh that happened to be his hand. Commander Cain cursed softly under his breath, having already been warned by Dr. Salik that raving aloud was considered inappropriate behaviour in the Life Station. Doubly so, given Cain's usual choice of vocabulary. "This is a hospital, Commander. Not a liberty port!" the CMO had told him, his voice making it clear he would brook no dissent, not even from the legendary Juggernaut. Cain had nodded, bowing to the Doctor's admonitions.

He could now feel his fingers, but to make them extend outwards and straighten, was another thing altogether. His 'claw' stubbornly refused to obey his orders. It had been ignoring him for some time now. He leaned forward and turned off the monitor that was guiding him through his therapy in disgust. Obviously, some serious disciplinary action was called for.

"Therapy takes time, Commander Cain." Med tech Waheeb reassured him, glancing at the monitor that was displaying neural patterns, specifically the pathways from the brain to his offending hand. While it made little sense to the warrior, Waheeb obviously was at home with it. "Remember, your muscles have atrophied from disuse. Your bones as well have suffered some decalcification. We need to gradually work on your range of motion to see an improvement. You're not going to get the same drastic differences in one day that you did with your improved cognitive abilities." Waheeb did not miss the annoyed frown. "Don't get discouraged, Commander. I know it may not seem like it, but you have already made measurable progress."

Cain raised an eyebrow at the young man. "I'm not discouraged, Waheeb, I'm impatient. There's a difference."

"Yes, sir," he remarked, leaning forward to turn the therapy module back on. "Don't I know it. You want to get back out there, and fight."

"Yes. It's . . . what I am."

"Well, you fight Cylons. I fight injury and disease. And just like you and the Cylons, your infirmities are my enemy."

"Interesting take, young man."

"Thank you, sir. And we're going to win, Commander. Don't lose patience. We _will _win!"

"Yes, I. . ." He stopped, as one atrophied finger twitched. "Lords of Kobol!" he said, looking from his hand to Waheeb, then back again. "Did you see that? Huh? You see that?"

"Yes I did, Commander," smiled Waheeb. "Come on, give me another one!"

"I . . ."

"Your fingers are Vipers, and every time you move one, you destroy a Cylon. Come on, Commander! Launch those squadrons!"

Cain glanced at the youngster ruefully. "And how old are your children, Waheeb?"

"Uh . . . three and five, sir." He chewed his lip, colouring slightly. "Point taken, Commander."

"Good." Cain nodded, looked around, then glanced back down at the 'claw'. What the heck. "Launching."

xxxxxxxxxx

Sheba's body ached, her mind screamed for reprieve, and yet her eyes stayed stubbornly open. Her heartbeat seemed to count off a long list of things she needed to do after her rest period, like a cadence set by a warrior beating a tambour. She fluffed her pillow rather forcefully . . . with her fist . . . again . . . and then rolled over once more, trying to find a comfortable position.

Like perhaps as a lieutenant on the _Galactica_.

"Stop it!" she berated herself. "You can do this!"

She blew out a breath, pushing her hair out of her eyes. It was strange being back aboard the _Pegasus_. It was strange because it was so different this time around. How many times had she heard the old saying that 'you can't go back'? Well, now she knew exactly what it meant.

The _Pegasus_ had once been her home, and the crew, her family. Ever since shipping out to what became the utter debacle at Molacay. But after all that time spent on the _Galactica_, instead of returning home, she felt as though she was leaving it behind.

Smiling green eyes, and dark, brown hair haunted her. He danced in and out of her long list of duties that needed attention. Not well, but at least he danced. Did Apollo even know that she had taken this promotion? What would he think when he found out? How would he react? Would he hate her for not discussing it with him? Or would he understand that she needed to help her father in Cain's time of desperate need?

Would he join her? Or would this development serve merely to drive another wedge between them?

"Aarrgghh!" Sheba groaned, rubbing her eyes and sitting up on the edge of her bed. Not a bunk in the billet, but a real bed in her own designated quarters. Such were the privileges of Command. But surprisingly, the lack of female companionship was more of a distraction than a reward. There was no one to sound off to, or listen to, or even to let their quiet voices lull her into a fitful slumber. In fact, it was damn lonely.

She hadn't heard anything about Apollo since the _Endeavour_ crashed. Her father was still in the Life Station on the _Galactica, _unlike her, blissfully asleep, as his body worked to recover from the ravages of both battle and surgery. Bojay was on board some wreck of a Base Ship due to arrive at the Fleet any centon. The _Pegasus_ was still largely a tangled mess of twisted, neglected metal, although repairs had at last begun. Her squadrons didn't really exist any longer, having transferred to the _Galactica_ at Gamoray. It wasn't much of a homecoming.

It wasn't much of a home.

xxxxxxxxxx

A damp, soothing motion, soft and cool, its caress moving over his face and through his hair. Repeatedly. It was soothing, yet . . . somewhat irritating. If it wasn't for the fact that it was drawing him out of the comforting place that could only be provided by too much ambrosa, a sweet woman, or some heavy-duty narcotics, he would be enjoying it wholeheartedly.

"I think he's coming around."

"That looked like a smile to me."

Starbuck sighed. Those soft, lilting voices could only belong to Sirens. Beautiful, enticing creatures, calling him from the safety of insentience . . . where, once he thought about it, it was a bit cold and lonely. But spending any time in insentience meant one of two things; he was in the ship's Life Station, or he was in big trouble with Aurora . . . Athena . . . Cassiopeia . . . Luana? His eyes flickered open, fighting against the insistent heaviness, and he blinked several times to clear his vision.

_"Lu . . ."_ he tried to say. It sounded more like a gasp, than anything recognizable. Then a canteen was pressed lightly against his lips, and cool, refreshing water was quenching his dry throat.

"How's the pain?"

He cleared his throat. "Fine," he croaked, trying to clear the mushies out of his head. "Just. . .fine." He broke off, coughing.

Cassiopeia was leaning over him, her biomonitor held in front of her, looking every centimetron the consummate professional. Then a moist cloth ran gently over his forehead once more, while fingertips raked through his hair. He looked up in momentary confusion, searching for the owner of those fingers.

Luana.

The little wrinkle on her forehead, and her tightly clenched jaw, were enough to let him know she was holding onto her self-control by a tenuous thread. So he took it easy on her.

"Hi," he said hoarsely. "Do you come here often?"

Pools abruptly formed in her dark brown eyes anyhow. She attempted a smile, but failed miserably when a tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. She clenched a fist. "You really have to stop doing this, Starbuck. At this rate, I'm going to be a widow before we even get a chance to get back to the _Galactica_ and apply for couple's quarters." Her lips formed that little pout that signalled the impending breaking of the dam, and the sequential opening of the floodway of tears.

He shook his head slightly, trying to prevent that, "Don't be crazy."

She sniffed, getting a hold of her emotions. "Too late for that. I already jumped." She glanced at Cassie, who was trying particularly hard to ignore their banter, but spared the young woman a sympathetic glance. Luana shifted, leaning down closer to her man, until they were only centimetrons apart. "What the Hades Hole am I going to do with you?" She sniffed again, blinking back the tears stinging her eyes, then asked in a shaky voice, "What would I do without you?"

Oh, frack! If there was one thing that scared him more than the entire Cylon Empire landing on the nose of his Viper, it was Luana crying. He raised a hand, fingering her hair lightly, at a loss for words. At least the right words. Cassie withdrew quietly, leaving them to discuss the chronic question in private. "Shh . . . that's not going to happen."

She raised her head, her tear-streaked face looking at him in incredulity. She sucked in a deep breath. "Starbuck, you threw yourself in front of a blast from a pulse-rifle!"

"I did not." He automatically replied, then looked at her wearily. His memory of the incident was sketchy at best. He was talking to Apollo . . . he heard Malus' warning at the same time as he saw the Cylon . . . he shoved Apollo out of the way . . .Yeah, that was pretty much where it all fell apart. He was too slow. His reflexes had failed him. It was shattering to a guy's ego, and he wasn't just any guy.

"Didn't mean to . . ." he added, dropping her steady gaze.

"Well, that's something," she muttered sardonically, taking his hand, and lightly brushing her lips across it. "Life is too damn short, Starbuck . . ."

"Then . . ." he intertwined their fingers, "seal with me."

He was almost as surprised as she was, but upon reflection, it felt right. It felt better than right. It was time to come clean with her.

"What?" she murmured, as if she didn't actually hear him, which was possible with the flurry of activity as people busied themselves around the room.

So he squeezed her hand again, and raised his voice, "Seal with me." Her eyes opened wide, and she was looking at him like he was under the influence of . . . oh, right. "I mean it, Lu. This isn't the drugs talking. Forget what I said yesterday. It has nothing to do with what Ama and Chameleon would think if we didn't go through with a ceremony. Honestly, it never did have anything to do with that. I want to marry you, Luana. I don't want to just live with you. I want us to be man and wife."

She chewed her lip for a moment. "I thought it didn't matter to you. You said it didn't matter."

He shrugged . . . which was a bad idea, because it really hurt. "I lied."

"Why?" It was a whisper. She didn't see several faces, all curious, turning to look at them.

Starbuck shook his head slightly. "I guess I didn't want to admit to you . . . or myself . . . just how much it matters. This is a big deal for me, Lu. I know that probably sounds idiotic, but getting married is something I've thought about my whole life . . . admittedly, usually about how to avoid it." She smiled at that. Only too well she knew him. "But . . ." He swallowed the sudden lump in his own throat, while searching for the words. "This is a turning point for me. I finally found the woman I want to share the rest of my life with . . . maybe one day have a family with . . . and I just can't settle for anything less than doing it right. Than getting married. I'd just feel like something was . . .was missing otherwise." He searched her features. "Do you know what I mean?"

"You pick the damndest times, Starbuck . . ." Luana let out a deep breath, looking around the Control Centre, before looking back at him. "I need to tell you . . . after you were shot, Baker threw a solenite charge that stopped that gold centurion, but didn't kill it. It powered up again somehow, when we weren't expecting it, and killed Sandor and Elek. The med tech, Hinnus, was also injured—a hit to his leg—but he'll be okay. Dayton finally destroyed it with a charge wedged under its armour below the neck."

Starbuck dropped his eyes, letting out a short breath. The two ensigns had been in Luana's cadet class. He had instructed them in everything from Viper manoeuvres and tactics to lifting victuals from the Officer's Mess without getting caught. Sandor had turned into an able pilot, once he had learned to keep his eyes open during launch. Elek had been a deadly shot both on the laser range and in combat sims, then there was his artistic perfection of lightning-quick galley raids. For both, this was their first real action with Cylon forces as Colonial Warriors . . . and their last.

"Hey, kid, how ya doing?" Dayton interrupted Starbuck's reverie.

"Okay," he nodded. "Although, all things considered, I'd rather be at _the__ Blue Diamond _Club, back in Caprica City."

"Yeah, and I'd rather be back home, grilling a couple of T-Bones out back, but what the hell. Anyway, Jolly and Giles are taking the shuttle to get a message to the _Galactica_. We still can't raise her from here. Malus is with them. They're going to get him to that Base Ship to see if he can help out." Dayton informed him, refraining from mentioning that the bodies of the two ensigns were also aboard, in addition to the injured med tech. "As soon as the Doc gives the word, we'll have you on the next available shuttle, and back to the Life Station."

"Is Apollo going to send for Dickins?" Starbuck asked, suddenly remembering the conversation he was supposed to have had with his captain.

"Yeah, in fact, he's sending for all of them. Don't worry, I took care of it. Just rest, and stop bleeding, will you?" the Earthman retorted.

"I'll get right on it." Starbuck replied, then grabbed Lu's hand again. "You never did answer me, Lu."

"Didn't I?" she asked, smiling slightly. She'd almost lost him again, and had then found out that he would feel their relationship was incomplete unless he could catapult himself over the psychological barricade that was marriage. At least that was her interpretation. Actually, the fact that he could come out and admit it to her, made it all the more special. She leaned down and tenderly brushed her lips over his. He looked so hopeful, yet tentative and vulnerable. It was a combination that was difficult to resist. "I love you, Starbuck. And I'll seal with you. But I don't want to endure that monstrosity of an Imperial Wedding that Ama is planning."

"I think I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." Dayton grinned. "Congratulations. I'm glad you two finally worked things out. Be sure and name your first after me, okay?"

"Lock-Up-Your-Daughters-Dayton?" Luana returned with a smile. "I don't think so."

Dayton laughed, turning to go, "Not quite what I had in mind . . ."

"Wait a centon, Dayton. I want to ask you something," Starbuck called after him, struggling to sit up. Pain enveloped his shoulder once again, and he gasped in surprise, collapsing back to the hard ground. "Frack . . ."

"Bloody hell, kid. What are you trying to do? Didn't I just tell you to rest?" Dayton was on his knees, and at his side in an instant. "Usually, serious wounds are called serious for a reason. Or did you sleep through that part of your Academy training?"

"Oh, I'm just trying to get the sympathy vote. Rumour has that you're a sucker for sympathy." Starbuck returned shakily as Lu and the Earthman fussed over him. "That you'll do anything for a man in your unit."

"Sounds like Ryan's been speaking out of turn again." Dayton frowned. "I'm gonna have a few words for him when he gets down here. I'm no pushover, kid." He gently pulled Starbuck towards him, as Luana piled another bioblanket behind the warrior to prop him up. He could feel the young man stiffen once again and an involuntary grunt escape. "Paye said he couldn't round out your pain killers with the usual anti-inflammatory because of your kidney dysfunction. Something to do with how the drug is metabolised, but hey, I'm no pharmacist."

"How come they call them 'pain killers', if they don't kill the pain?" Starbuck returned, as Dayton supported him, while settling him back against the blankets. Damned, if he didn't tuck the blanket around him too! "They really need to address that."

"I'll mention it to the Council, next meeting. We'll move it to the top of the agenda," Dayton returned wryly. "Now what did you want to ask me? This isn't a final request is it?"

A number of movies and Earth stories came to mind, most of them delivered by Ryan, who could 'spin a yarn' better than most people. Especially, when he had a couple Empyrean Ales in him. Or three. Or four. Starbuck glanced between Dayton and Luana, knowing this could be the perfect solution to their problem. And if he could manage to pull it off before they returned to the _Galactica_, then there was nothing that Ama or Chameleon could do about it.

"C'mon, Espresso Brain, I can hear the beans grinding," Dayton had come to know that look on Starbuck's face. He was percolating, and that could only mean he'd come up with a plan. Somehow, Dayton was involved. Again. "Give. What's on your mind, kid?"

"You're the commander of your own ship, Dayton. On Earth that gives you certain privileges. The way I see it, as long as we're on your ship, then those privileges should still be in effect here."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He wasn't getting it. Dayton glanced at Lu who didn't seem any more enlightened than he was. Then, a couple of neurons popped, and . . .

_Oh, for crying out loud!_

Starbuck smiled, his eyes twinkling at the brilliance of his plan. "I want you to marry us, Dayton. On the _Endeavour_."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

"That's perfect!" Luana applauded, even as Dayton looked at them in abject horror. "It's a great idea!"

"Marry you?" Dayton asked incredulously. "I can't . . ."

"Sure you can!" Starbuck encouraged him. "C'mon, Dayton, this would really be helping us out of a tight spot. Lu doesn't want the big formal affair, and when we get back to the Fleet, we're going to have Ama and Chameleon breathing down our necks about who, how and when, until Luana's so frustrated that she's running the other way again, and I'm so overwhelmed that I'm checking out the Empyrean Brown Nectar stores from the inside of the kegs."

"Look, Barista Buzz, I'm not actually qualified . . ."

"It doesn't matter to us that your Earth traditions aren't necessarily recognized here, Dayton," Luana interrupted him, smiling down at Starbuck with a joy that could melt polar icecaps. "Really, what is a marriage ceremony, but a few words muttered by some official of choice? It's not like you have to take a test, or get an education to be married. You just have to make the decision. What really matters is that the two people getting sealed are making a commitment to one another. The ceremony is only symbolic."

"If you feel that way, then why are you bothering to getting sealed, Luana?" Dayton returned a little disapprovingly.

"Because Starbuck wants to." Luana returned. "He really wants to." Laughter burbled out of her and her eyes twinkled with joy at that thought, as she gazed down at her lover.

"As if there was ever any doubt . . ." Starbuck replied, spreading his good arm, angling for her embrace. Luana leaned in, mindful of his injury, and lightly kissed him.

Dayton blew out a deep breath. It was like trying to reason with a couple of children. He was briefly reminded of his 'three-year-old' so very long ago and far away. "It's not that I don't want to . . ."

"Good, then it's settled." Starbuck waved Apollo over.

"Whoa! Hold your horses!" Dayton held his hands up. "You're not listening to me here!"

Starbuck grinned at Lu, glancing up at the Earthman. "Did you say something, Dayton?" They laughed together as the Earthman threw up his hands in frustration.

"Hey, you're looking a bit better." Apollo joined them, squatting down beside them, and smiling in contagion. "What's going on?"

"Congratulate us, buddy. We're getting sealed."

Apollo nodded slowly, then smiled because the absolute joy on his friend's features had almost eclipsed the fact that he had been shot. The captain leaned forward to clasp Starbuck's forearm. "That is good news. Glad to hear it. But if you think I'm planning another betrothal party . . ." He smiled ruefully, winking at Luana. "It's really just a plot for Starbuck to have as many parties as possible planned for him."

"You know him too well," she replied with a laugh. "I think we'll need a bit of help with this though, Apollo. Dayton's going to marry us. On the _Endeavour_."

Apollo glanced up at the Earthman and nodded thoughtfully. "I remember Ryan mentioning something about how historically the captain of a nautical ship could perform Earth marriage ceremonies. So obviously, it's the same with your spaceships. "

"It's not really . . ." Dayton attempted, feeling as though he was being swept away by a force of nature. He could just hear Ryan busting a gut right now at his expense.

"Ah, don't sell yourself short, Dayton," Starbuck shot back at him, trying out one of the Earthman's phrases. "No doubt you're a little out of practice, but we don't care. Hey, it'll be all the more special that one of our friends is performing the ceremony."

"Ah, kid . . ." Dayton winced, shaking his head. Then the most obvious fact occurred to him. "Wouldn't it be even better if Commander Adama or Ama did that? They've known you a lot longer than I have."

"You're not getting it, Dayton." Starbuck shook his head adamantly. "We need this done quickly. If Ama catches wind of this, she'll curse me all the way back to the planet Empyrean. She has plans, you know." He shuddered dramatically.

"Apollo, talk some sense into these two." Dayton begged him. "I can't . . ."

"Actually, Dayton, I think it's a great idea." Apollo returned decisively. "After all, when you leave these two too long to think about getting sealed, somehow it just gets more complicated than it should. When you think about it, they're both impulsive. So maybe it's only appropriate that they should get sealed that way too."

Dayton blinked at the captain. He hadn't been expecting that. Apollo was supposed to be the rational one. The astronaut started grasping at straws. "But just remember how the _Endeavour_ looked when we left her. She's a bit of a wreck, after all. Windshields blown out. Covered in grass and dirt. She probably even has a Cylon parking ticket on her by now. Wouldn't you rather be in a nice little chapel? Somewhere that's at least clean?"

The couple looked at each other, grinning inanely. Together they answered, "No."

"Actually, this will be perfect." Starbuck enthused. "I can't think of anything better than being sealed on a historical ship that came from Earth. That ship itself is a symbol of hope for our people. Of our future." He clasped hands with Luana. "That's better than any chapel or temple could be, at least as far as we're concerned." He smiled as Luana nodded in agreement. Then he shifted, wincing again as his shoulder protested. Somehow it didn't feel quite as sore this time around. Perhaps pure, unadulterated joy was nature's analgesic. Or maybe Cassie had upped his dose of narcotic the last time around. "Hmm, Dayton, if we have the chance to get her back to the _Galactica_, remind me to mention that to Chameleon as a marketing ploy. We'll make a bundle." He grinned at the prospect.

"What are you going to wear, Starbuck?" Dayton asked in a last-ditch effort. He waved a hand at the filthy uniform pants and duct-taped boot that the warrior was wearing. His torso was bare, except for his field dressing, which was wrapped entirely around from mid back to chest covering not only the entry wound, but also where Dr. Paye had repaired subsidiary damage on his left flank. Then Dayton looked at Lu. She was almost as bad, her uniform still stained with ash and dirt from the wildfire, one leg and sleeve ripped, and her hair in total disarray.

"Boomer always brings me a new uniform when he rescues me." Starbuck returned with a laugh, not to be dissuaded. "There should be uniforms on the _Endeavour_ with the other supplies we left behind." He glanced at Apollo. "Right?"

"Right." Apollo smiled, truly getting into the spirit of things now. "I could use one myself. Now all you need is a couple witnesses . . ."

"Witnesses?" Starbuck scoffed. "I might not have made it to your sealing, buddy, but I sure as Hades hole expect you're going to be at mine. Boomer too, of course. And Lia will stand with Lu . . ."

"Absolutely!" Luana agreed, then remembered, "Oh, you're probably anxious to get back to Sheba and her father, Apollo. I didn't think about that."

Starbuck's face fell. "Neither did I. Sorry . . . I guess . . ."

Apollo raised a hand. "Wait a centon. I asked Jolly to bring word back on Commander Cain. As long as he's okay . . . then I suppose I could set aside a little time to be at my best friend's sealing." He couldn't help but laugh as Starbuck abruptly grinned like a child receiving the natal day present of his dreams. He knew how much this meant to his friend. They'd been through a lot together. "You're going to be heading back to the _Galactica_ on the next shuttle anyway, Starbuck. Providing Dr. Paye approves it, I'll meet you at the _Endeavour_ in one of the Vipers. Then I can get back to the Fleet ahead of you. As long as everything is okay down here, and I'm not needed."

"Will you people listen to me?" Dayton exploded as they all barrelled ahead without ever actually asking if he was qualified to marry them. Which he most definitely wasn't. "This isn't going to be legal or recognized by your own society. Doesn't that matter to anyone?"

"Well, by the time everybody else figures that out, we'll have the technicalities taken care of back at the Fleet, and we'll be in couple's quarters on the Officer's Deck." Starbuck shrugged. "Lu's right. It's really just a matter of paying some keyboard-punching lackey to enter the legal work, and it's official. Not much different from getting married in Pineas, really."

"_Pineas?_" said Apollo. "When did you. . ."

"I didn't, but Chameleon almost did . . ." began Starbuck.

Apollo shook his head. "I don't think I want to know."

"You're probably right." Starbuck grinned.

"Hey, none of that matters. And most importantly, we'll have Ama off our backs." Luana added with a smile.

"No, most importantly, we'll be sealed." Starbuck countered, lightly caressing her cheek.

Luana laughed. "Oh, right!"

"Well, Dayton, will you do it?" Starbuck asked.

Between the two of them—Starbuck and Lu—their happiness shone like a beacon, affecting everyone and everything in its path. No doubt, when they left the cavern, the sky would be bluer, the grass would be greener, and the universe would live happily ever after. Dayton couldn't help but smile at them. He wasn't immune, after all.

"All right, I'll do it. But only if Dr. Paye gives you . . ."

"His blessing?" Starbuck quipped.

"I was going to say 'medical clearance', Skinny Harmless." Dayton returned. "I'm with Apollo. I don't want to have to hold you up for the ceremony."

"I'm feeling much better," Starbuck returned.

He looked better too. Despite his ghastly wound, he finally had some colour back in his face, no doubt owing more to the life sustaining blood products he was still receiving, rather than the upcoming sealing.

Or maybe not.

Dayton had been that deliriously happy a time or three in his life. He smiled, thinking back to Yvonne and him starting their life together, their own marriage being the 'full meal deal' as she had called it. The big church wedding with all the usual supporting cast—the best man, the maid of honour, three ushers and bridesmaids, two flower girls, a ring bearer, the minister that Yvonne had known most of her life, their respective families and two hundred of their 'closest' friends— and the big soiree to follow. And after it all was said and done, Dayton's favourite and most vivid memory was just holding his precious Yvonne, the two of them whispering quietly into the night as they talked not only of their big day, but of their future. It had never looked so bright, as it did then.

So, maybe the two had a point. Maybe it wasn't really all that important how they were married. How many lavish weddings had he been to with God and the great-grandparents present, where the couple ended up in a bitter divorce some years later anyway? Wasn't it truly about the commitment? Wasn't that why people took the plunge to say "I do." Yet here, like back on Earth, the focus had shifted to the 'big day', rather than the years that followed, which was really the more important part of the equation.

"Starbuck. Luana." Dayton squatted down, putting a hand over both of theirs, still entwined. "I'd be honoured to marry you." He smiled at their exuberance. "But you might regret this, because I've never done it before."

Luana smiled, her eyes a little misty as she looked at her man. "Neither have we, Dayton." She ran a finger down Starbuck's jaw line, rough with a day's growth of beard. "Neither have we."

xxxxxxxxxx

"_Galactica _bridge, this is Lieutenant Jolly. Come in. Repeat, this is Lieutenant Jolly to the _Galactica_ Bridge. Come in."

"Go ahead, Jolly."

"Commander, the Cylon Base is secured. You were right, sir. The Control Centre for the Dynamo Network _is_ inside the Base. Further to that, Captain Apollo requested that Captain Dickins, and Doctors Ryan and Porter join the landing party to help with accessing the system, and retrieving relevant data. Apparently, it's written in Earth-speak, sir."

"_Earth-speak_?" Tigh inserted, glancing at Adama, his eyebrows raised. "Say again, Lieutenant."

"I believe Dr. Ryan refers to that as _Americanese_, Commander. Colonel." Athena added helpfully. "One of Earth's major sub-tongues."

Adama frowned, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms. "Americanese? Are you certain?"

Athena nodded. "Absolutely. He mentioned it more than once. In fact, most of the surviving vid scans we saw are in that language."

He filed that away for future reference. "I see."

"I thought Commander Dayton had called it Inglis." Tigh suggested.

Adama nodded, rubbing his chin. That sounded more familiar. "English?"

Tigh shrugged, uncertain. The language was so guttural and difficult to understand.

"Rigel, have the landing team launch."

She nodded. "Yes, Commander. _Galactica_ shuttle, you are cleared to launch."

"Any casualties, Jolly?" Adama asked.

"Yes, sir. Ensigns Sandor and Elek were killed in action. Med Tech Hinnus and Lieutenant Starbuck were wounded. Hinnus is with us—he's fine—but Starbuck wasn't stable enough to transport according to Doctor Paye."

The commander paused, taking a moment to recollect the two lost ensigns before asking, "Starbuck's condition?" Adama spared a quick glance at Athena, his daughter visibly tensing at the report on the lieutenant's condition, much as he had

"The last I heard, he was holding his own. For some reason though, Dr. Paye didn't want to move him. He was adamant. But it was at least a kilometron between the Control Centre and the shuttle, so that might have had something to do with it. Dr. Paye did have to operate."

Operate in the field? Considering Colonial science was so advanced that they operated almost exclusively in a strictly sterile environment, it was risky. Usually, they stabilized the patient and transported to a Life Station as soon as possible. It had to have been a life threatening situation. "Thank you, Jolly." Adama turned to Athena. "Athena, get word to Chameleon that Starbuck has been injured."

"Yes, sir." Athena checked the gentleman's status. "He's recorded as being part of the landing team."

"Chameleon?" Adama startled. "I didn't . . ." His lips tightened. Ama . . . "Send word to the shuttle then."

"Commander, Captain Apollo asked if you could give us an update on Commander Cain's condition." Jolly added.

"Cain came through remarkably, Lieutenant. You can tell the captain that Strike Captain Sheba is back aboard the _Pegasus_."

"Will do, sir. One last thing, Commander." Jolly inserted. "Starbuck . . . uh, Captain Apollo struck a deal with the Base Commander, Malus. He's aboard, sir." Jolly looked back over his shoulder at the IL, who was listening attentively, but quietly, ensuring that the information offered was accurate. "He's offered his 'eternal allegiance', including his assistance to help crack the codes on that Cylon Base Ship, and anything else he can do for us." Jolly shook his head.

"In exchange for?"

"Uh . . . well, he was some help in taking the Base, sir. But mainly, he asks that we treat him with respect, and not as the enemy, Commander." A pause, with an insistent voice in the background. "Uh . . .with an additional request that he not be used to clean out waste pipes."

Adama exchanged looks with the colonel. "Jolly, you are cleared to land in Alpha Bay. We'll have a detail waiting to . . . welcome Base Commander Malus to the Fleet, and to escort him to a shuttle that will take him directly to the Abaddon Base Ship. After refueling, you can return to the planet as support for the research and rescue teams."

"Aye, sir. Lieutenant Jolly out." There were some muffled words, then another voice. A new face came on the small screen. A Cylon one, and to everyone there it was jarring.

"Commander Adama?"

"Yes?"

"I am Malus, Commander. I wish to extend my thanks for the way your men have treated me. I understand that there will be a transition period while everyone is acclimatizing to an IL in their midst. However, I want to assure you that I look forward to assisting you in any way possible."

"Well, I'm pleased you were treated . . . well, Commander Malus." It seemed bizarre to be having this conversation. Could they trust a Cylon? Every Colonial Warrior within earshot seemed to suddenly be on edge, and Adama was no exception.

"In particular, I would like to commend Lieutenant Starbuck. I do hope he recovers from his injury. I so enjoyed speaking with him on our respective civilisations."

"Starbuck? I see." Really, he didn't. Not at all. Starbuck and an IL Cylon discussing civilisation? Now, this was a turn of events that even the most brilliant of strategists would not have foreseen. What were the chances that a Cylon was legitimately changing sides? Scant, at best. "I look forward to debrief . . . meeting you."

"The anticipation is mutual, Commander."

"I shall meet you in Alpha Bay, Commander."

"Until then," said Malus, and the screen went blank.

"Wow," said Omega, to no one in particular.

"Indeed. Commander . . . er . . . will we be requiring quarters for Commander Malus?" Colonel Tigh asked with a faint smile.

It was on the tip of his tongue to recommend the storage closet in the billet—nice and close to Starbuck's bunk so the lieutenant could take responsibility for yet another intriguing addition to the Fleet—but Adama managed to keep that thought to himself. "I admit to being . . . uncertain of Commander Malus' requirements. I'll have to ask him."

"Yes, sir." Tigh replied.

xxxxxxxxxx

Lying around while watching everybody else try to access computer systems that were likely some hybrid blend of Earth and the Ship of Lights Beings' technology was interesting . . . until the latest narcotic oblivion started to wear off, and then it became less entertaining. That was when a guy wanted to be a little closer to the action. Even Luana had abandoned him in his medicated nirvana, migrating over to watch Baker attempt yet another password that might give them access to information that would explain why this engineered planet had come to be. Gingerly, Starbuck started to sit up, wincing with the abrupt back spasm. He gritted his teeth and willed his muscles to relax. Annoyingly, they had a will of their own. They instead screamed at him to lie back down.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cassiopeia was at his side in an instant, insistently but gently pushing him back into a reclining position, and then pulling out her medical scanner. "Hmm?"

"I just wanted to sit up. See what was going on," he confessed, feeling inappropriately but effectively guilty when she frowned at him. She often had that effect on him. Then she held up the hypospray, looking at him in question.

He shook his head. "It just makes me tired"

"It also takes the edge off the pain. And a _sleeping_ Starbuck, is a well-behaved Starbuck." She adjusted the hypo, smiling wryly. "We could all use some of that."

"Very funny." He returned with a frown. "I hate that doped up feeling."

"You need to stay still, Starbuck," Cassie replied, looking at the display. She leaned over and adjusted the infusion device attached to the warrior, exchanging the empty fluid container within for a new one.

"How still?" He frowned, watching as she aimed her biomonitor at him.

She raised her eyebrows and met his gaze. "You can breathe and blink. That's about it."

"You're kidding, right?"

But somehow he knew that she wasn't.

Just the fact that Cassiopeia was focussing on him gave him a fairly good idea that something serious was going on. She had to be at Level Four or Five of her training now. When Level Five was completed, he knew that Dr. Salik had already spoken to her about continuing her education, and becoming a fully qualified physician.

"I'm not kidding. Starbuck, you still have some internal bleeding. Which—in the event you missed it—can be fatal! The damage done from that Cylon pulse was extensive. Lasers not only damage the tissue they directly hit, but also cause secondary damage, making surrounding tissue incredibly friable. That's why so many pulse-laser shots are fatal. It's much like a burn, in that there are demarcation lines where we're going to find out if the tissue is salvageable or not. Your splenic artery was damaged close to your aorta, and your spleen ruptured, probably due to your fall. Dr. Paye tried to salvage it. He repaired the splenic artery, as well as patched the tear, but for now you need to maintain _strict_ bedrest until we know for certain that we don't have to go back in and do a splenectomy."

He looked at her in horror, reflexively trying to rise again. "That sounds dangerous."

"It's preferable to bleeding to death," she returned logically. "But more preferable still, is resting, and letting the body try to heal itself. Often, in these cases, with proper monitoring as well as fluid and blood transfusions, we can save it. Now lie back." She pushed him back down, and this time he let her, sighing as he did so. "God knows, you'll probably need your spleen in the future to fight off some genetically mutated infection."

He tried to relax as her cool hands palpated his stomach, pressing and watching his face for his reactions. Her touch was clinical, her demeanour strictly professional.

"Any pain?"

"Just a bit. It's more in my back though," he replied. "The muscles cramp up around the wound."

"Has it changed at all? Increased in intensity?"

He shook his head. "It ebbs off with the hypospray. Puts me to sleep. Then I wake up and get sore again."

"Roll over, I want to check the dressing."

By now his shoulder was in knots. Moving really wasn't high on his agenda. In fact, lying still was looking more and more desirable. "Breathe and blink, you said."

"Roll over." It managed to sound like a growl. "Or would you like _me_ to roll you over?"

Slowly, he rolled to his side, his teeth clenched and his breath held. Abruptly, that hypospray depressed against his skin. He sighed as he felt the drug immediately begin to work. Cassie murmured, "You need it Starbuck." Her hands brushed across his dressing, doing something to it, though he wasn't sure what. Then her fingers began to manipulate those muscles, gently but firmly, smoothing out the knots. He groaned, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. After a few centons of her therapy, he could feel the edges of his consciousness begin to close in again. Then she spoke.

"If your stomach starts to hurt, or gets distended, let me or Dr. Paye know. Okay?" .

He nodded idly, and held his breath as she started working on that crucial spot below his shoulder blade. It felt like he had a Base Ship lodged in there. Sideways. Then he heard the whoosh of the hypo again, and the area went pleasantly numb. He let out a long, deep sigh of contentment, quirking an eyebrow as he heard her chuckle in apparent amusement. "Cass, you're checking me every five centons." His voice sounded fuzzy. "You'll probably notice before I do."

"Every _three_ centons, but who's counting. I put some local anaesthetic and relaxant in there. It should help with the muscle spasms." She returned, glancing back at Dayton before she helped him roll onto his back. "Mark told me you and Luana plan to get sealed before you leave the planet. I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Starbuck. You really should be moved as little as possible."

He tried to control the grimace that threatened to take over his facial expression, dropping his gaze from hers. Somehow talking about getting sealed to Luana with Cassiopeia was just wrong. After all, how long did Cassie wait for the proposal that never came? Still, he needed medical clearance for Apollo and Dayton to go along with his plan for sealing on the _Endeavour_, and for that, he had to have her on his side.

"This isn't personal, Starbuck." she said quietly.

He looked up in surprise. "I didn't think it was. It's just . . ."

"What?"

With Athena it had been different. They had gradually drifted apart after the Destruction, while Cassie and him had started spending more and more time together. There had never been a 'dissolution' of their relationship, really. Not officially. Only an eventual realization that they hadn't dated for some time, and were unlikely to do so again. No angry words. No tears. Even so, it took a while for them to recover the easy friendship that they had once shared prior to their romantic involvement. And Athena, of all people, had been instrumental in rebuilding that relationship, after he had broken the ice by approaching her about tutoring Luana and Lia.

However, with Cassie, the break-up had been dramatic. It was entirely his own fault, owing to a seduction scene on the Triad Courts that was so erotic, it could have come straight out of the sectarly edition of Colonial Hotshots. Not that he had _planned_ it. That had been Luana's doing. All the same, he hadn't exactly fought her off. Lord knows, the young, sassy Empyrean woman had been on his mind since they had shared a passionate embrace or two on Alrin sectars before. His body had been all too keen to follow Luana's lead. Hardly the fool, Cassie had known about it within a centar, and the rest was history.

Still, it hadn't escaped his attention that within a day or two of Mark Dayton arriving within the Fleet, the med tech had been encouraging the Earthman's advances. While at first, Starbuck had thought it was to get back at him for his indiscretions, he soon came to realize that it was more than that. The astronut obviously cared a great deal for Cassiopeia, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Cassie was a warm, caring, sensitive, sexy, intelligent woman, and it took Dayton about a day to notice. Oddly enough, Starbuck couldn't be happier about it.

"Cass . . . I . . ." He waffled, not sure how to explain. Instead, he lifted a hand, and sighed.

"It's still . . . awkward. Isn't it?" She looked at him knowingly. "You and I."

"Yeah," he replied, his gaze wandering to observe Dayton watching them curiously. The Earthman waved a finger at him, as if in warning or admonishment. "But Dayton's a good friend, and you and I have so much history, both good and bad . . . so . . . I guess I'm hoping we can move past all that." His eyelids were beginning to feel altogether too heavy.

"He is rather attached to you." She smiled at the Earthman. Dayton had confessed that Starbuck had once warned him if he hurt the med tech, the warrior would do him bodily damage. It had been surprising, yet endearing. Somehow hating Starbuck was impossible, though Cassie had come close to it a time or two.

"He's like the father I never wanted." Starbuck returned with a faint smile, thinking of how much time the older man spent reaming him out for various perceived transgressions. It never failed to amuse him. "Uh . . . are you planning to be on the shuttle that takes me home?"

"You got it, flyboy." She smiled. "Dr. Paye will likely be there too."

"All I want to do is walk from the shuttle into the _Endeavour_, and get sealed."

She shook her head. "You can't, Starbuck. Strict bedrest. That means no walking."

"Well," he mused, looking around. "How are you planning to get me out of here?" He couldn't prevent the yawn that slipped out. He rubbed his eyes.

"Hover-stretcher."

"Then I can be hover-stretchered to the _Endeavour_ as well."

She shook her head at him. "You don't give up, do you? I don't see what the big rush is. Just get sealed when you're well enough."

"You don't understand. Luana was ready to forego the whole wedding just to avoid Ama and her sealing plans."

"She was?" Her blue eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Yeah." He didn't mean for the monosyllabic answer to sound so morose, but it did anyway.

She nodded slowly, in understanding. "So you figure if Mark marries you on the _Endeavour_, you can bypass the fuss."

"More or less."

"Aren't you afraid that Ama will turn you into a porcine?" she teased him.

"I can handle Ama." Then he smiled sleepily. "But I'd rather do it after the fact."

"I'll bet you would," she laughed quietly. _That _certainly sounded like the Starbuck she knew. He _must_ be feeling better. "How do you manage to get yourself into these predicaments?"

He shrugged, grimacing as he did so. "Well, it never gets boring. Could you put in a word for us with Dr. Paye."

"Dr. Paye might just shoot you himself, Starbuck," she warned him.

"C'mon, Cass. I could really use your help with this."

"Starbuck, it will put you at risk."

"I'm willing to take that chance. This is important."

"What's more important than 'life or death'?"

"Life and death are a given, it's what you do in between that really matters."

"A philosophy like that can get you killed, Starbuck."

"I'd rather die a quick death, than a tortuous, slow one, lasting a lifetime."

Cassie shook her head in resignation. He'd lived his life that way since before she had met him. Starbuck did what Starbuck wanted to do. If he couldn't get clearance, he went ahead and figured out some way around it anyway, and damn the consequences. She had to keep that in mind. "I know you would. I just don't know if I can support that as a med tech. I happen to believe that keeping you alive is more important than evading Imperial traditions. I'm not willing to take that risk."

"Then come with us. You're going to be on the shuttle anyhow. Come to our sealing, and you can make sure I follow Doctor's orders. I won't budge off the hover-stretcher." He raised a hand and put on his most beguilingly boyish grin . . . slightly hampered by his head nodding slightly with weariness. He smiled ruefully. "I promise."

"Starbuck . . ." she warned him.

"Please, Cass. Don't make me beg for this . . ."

"But you beg so nicely . . ." She returned playfully, a little surprised that it came out of her mouth as easily as it had. He startled slightly, and then chuckled in amusement, reaching out to squeeze her hand affectionately, but briefly. She shook her head at him, then let out a sigh. "Obviously, it's going to depend on your condition, Starbuck. If you promise to behave, then I suppose we might be able to make a short detour."

"Thanks, Cassiopeia." He rubbed his eyes again, his head nodding towards his chest.

"_Provided _the doctor concurs!"

Then he flashed that boyish grin again that could no doubt power a small planet. It was made all the more endearing by the sleepiness he was trying so hard to fight off. She thought she was immune to it, after all that had happened between them. But it came from his heart, which was Starbuck's ultimate charm. For all his faults, he had a heart as big as Caprica . . . though he always tried so hard to keep that fact hidden. But his friends knew.

And remarkably, she was beginning to count herself as being among them once again.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ."

It had been over thirty years since the sun had shone down on Ryan's face. _Any _sun. He'd forgotten how exquisite it could feel, and how it seemed to warm him from the inside out. He closed his eyes and drew in the biggest breath he could, savouring the earthy aromas, and briefly focussing on each one, trying to identify it. Man alive, he couldn't believe that dirt could smell so absolutely divine.

"Get up. You're embarrassing me," Porter hissed, nudging him in the hip with his boot. "You look like a wino!"

"Is he alright?" Technician Hummer asked quietly.

Ryan laughed from where he lay on the ground, flat on his back. He started fanning his arms and legs out, just like he had as a child while making snow angels. Then he clutched two handfuls of grass, pulling it free from the earth, and threw it up in the air above him. "Woo!" he yelled. The grass showered down on him, and he chuckled aloud, brushing it off his face. This was better than his very first shower aboard the _Galactica_ after leaving the pirate asteroid. Then he rolled over onto his knees, bent down and . . .

"Oh man, he's going to . . ." Dickins muttered.

Ryan kissed the ground.

"Dick." Porter motioned towards their friend, with a sidelong look at the bemused Colonials who were watching. The small team of researchers, technical specialists and other personnel had gathered in a semi-circle to watch Ryan's shenanigans. They appeared concerned at his eccentric behaviour, with the exception of Ama and Chameleon who looked mildly amused.

"I'm with you, Jimmy." Dickins replied. The two flanked Ryan, grabbing him beneath the arms and hauling him to his feet. He simply grinned at his friends, throwing his arms around both of them.

"I feel great!" Ryan gushed, looking around at the fertile landscape. "Look at this! Just look at it! Real air! _Real _dirt! REAL gravity! It's almost like being home!"

"There's Lieutenant Dietra." Their pilot pointed towards the Colonial Warriors trotting their way. He seemed relieved at the prospect of unloading the Earthmen on them.

"Dee!" Ryan called to her, letting go of his friends and crossing to greet her. He leaned down and kissed her on one cheek, and then the other. Finally, he asked, "How's Starbuck doing? We heard he was injured."

"Better." She smiled at him, and his quaint Earth custom. The longer Ryan was in the Fleet, the more unusual customs he introduced her to. It was as though gradually each bad memory of pirates, Obediators and koivee root were replaced by long-forgotten traditions, or sayings. Little by little, or so he had told her, he was becoming more like his old self, only with a new appreciation for every day he lived free from the oppression of tyranny. It was difficult to try and explain to a man who had been a prisoner for thirty yahren, that his new found freedom was merely an illusion. After several lengthy discussions, she realized it all depended on one's point of view. To her, each day the Cylons pursued them, was another day living beneath their tyranny. Borrowed time. To him, each day they evaded the mechanical race, was another to celebrate their liberty. "Dr. Paye's hoping he'll be ready to transfer soon." Dietra nodded at Chameleon and Ama. "We didn't know you were coming, Councilwoman."

"A last centon decision, Lieutenant." Ama returned. "We decided if we were going to inform the Council of the situation, it would be advantageous to have a representative present, other than Commander Dayton, of course." And, she also had this niggling feeling that she should be there, a feeling she had to act on.

"I see." Dietra nodded. "And Chameleon?"

He smiled charmingly at her, waving a hand to include the Earthmen. "Wherever they go, I go, Lieutenant. I take my responsibility as their public relations man seriously." He looked around them at the land. The sky, the clouds, birds, the sea of green stretching to the horizon.

Dietra still wasn't exactly sure what a 'public relations man' was, the designation being an Earth one. But she suspected it was an all encompassing excuse for Chameleon to insert himself when and where he saw fit. The fact that Starbuck was here and injured, no doubt played a part in whatever scheme the old conman was brewing up. "I'm sure you do, Chameleon. This way folks," she summoned them all. "I'll fill you in on what we're dealing with along the way."

"Look!" said Ryan, both pointing and sniffing the air. "Smell it?"

"What?" asked one of the Colonials.

"Honeysuckle! And there. . .blackberries!" He veered off a bit, and grabbed some from a prickly bush. He grinned nostalgically at the scrapes on his hand, as he harvested the luscious fruit. His eyes nearly rolled up into his head at the first taste. "Grandma's famous pie. Blackberry jam. Blackberry preserves on vanilla ice cream . . ." He reminisced as he popped a few more into his mouth, groaning aloud in contentment.

"What are you doing?" asked their pilot, wary of eating 'alien' plant forms.

"Eating some real food for a change!" replied the astronaut, downing them by the handfuls.

"That's not a good idea, especially when we have provisions with us." The pilot returned.

"This is honest to goodness, sweet, luscious fruit, provided by mother nature and warmed by the sun, all for me!" Ryan returned enthusiastically, picking another handful. "It would be a crime not to eat it."

"Well, we could analyse them. Make sure they're safe." The pilot shook his head, as the Earthman filled his mouth again before finally, but reluctantly, walking away. "But we do have another objective right now." He pointed towards the Base.

"That'll take too long." Ryan replied, wiping berry juice from his lips and tossing a stray berry at Porter's open mouth. He laughed as the berry landed on target. "Two points!"

"What's the rush?" asked the pilot.

"I'm old!"

xxxxxxxxxx

"He's stubborn, single-minded, doesn't listen to orders . . ."

Adama couldn't help but smile. Cain was back in full force it seemed. "I need to see him, Dr. Salik. Only for a few centons."

Salik sighed, glancing over at the Juggernaut who was supposed to be resting, but instead was sitting on the side of his biobed, muttering to himself because nobody seemed able to give him a definitive answer on how long he required monitoring, or what were the criteria for his eventual discharge. He was already wearing out his welcome, but that was probably his plan.

"Go ahead." Salik waved him over.

"Thank you."

Adama strode over, watching as Cain sat intently manipulating his right hand with his left, obviously doing some kind of therapy. Still, the _Pegasus_ commander's eyes followed everything that went on in the Life Station, long accustomed to keeping an eye on all around him, so he didn't miss the fact that Adama was there. The _Galactica_'s commander had barely opened his mouth, when Cain spoke first.

"You didn't bring flowers?" Cain noted with a smirk. "I'm crushed."

"An oversight," Adama replied with a smile. "You look well."

"I _feel_ well, Adama. I feel well enough to go back to the _Pegasus_. But Salik and Sobek are as paranoid as a couple of cadets on their first solo. They want me here, so they can carefully monitor their lab rat." He waved a hand at the medical equipment still connected to him. A single wire was securely attached to his Life Station gown, and coiled up to disappear into his hairline.

"You are the first Human recipient of the implant, Cain. Don't you think that warrants their vigilance?"

"Well, I'm not a doctor," he said, looking back to his fingers. "But I'm of the mind that if the implant is working now, then it should be designed to last longer than a secton or two—Colonial ingenuity being what it is—so it's time to put this lab rat through the paces." He smiled at Adama. "I think a 'test flight' is in order, Adama. Unfortunately, my doctors don't agree."

"Cain, the Life Station aboard the _Pegasus _is still damaged and off-line. And Med Tech Zeb is all that's left of your medical department. There's no way to get you to help quickly, should it become necessary."

Cain smiled slightly. "Well, when you put it that way . . ." He shrugged. "I'm just eager to get back to my ship. I know that the repairs are underway, and I _know_ she's in good hands, but I still miss . . ." he waved a hand airily, leaving the thought incomplete. Then he frowned, "Besides, I know I haven't been at my best, and I want to see exactly what it is I've missed."

"Cain, I hate to broach this with you now, but you also need to think about replacing Colonel Tolen. You need an executive officer."

"I know." Cain replied, as though it was more of an inconvenience than a necessity. Replacing a man who had worked so closely for so long with the Juggernaut would not be an easy task. And the briskness of Cain's tone indicated that he was loath to take it on.

"I have a list of our more senior officers, as well as those experienced enough to be considered. I know you're going to want to review their records, so that data is also available to you." He handed the man the datapad.

Cain nodded, looking over the list. "I see your son's name listed here too, Adama. I would have thought that you would want Apollo to stay on your ship though."

"There won't be much room for a senior command promotion on the _Galactica_, barring an unexpected death, Cain. Apollo deserves that chance as much as any other young officer. I won't hold him back. Besides, you're his childhood idol, and for good reason. There's a lot he could learn from you, and perhaps there are also a few things you could learn from him."

"I don't know about that, Adama. You can't teach an old daggit new tricks." His amused smile bespoke the fact that he didn't really believe it. "At least _some_ old daggits. All the same, I'm a firm believer in avoiding fraternization between the ranks. I couldn't tolerate an executive officer and a strike captain in a romantic relationship on my ship. Not even if one of them is my own daughter. There's just too much room for trouble."

Adama nodded in understanding. "Since the Destruction, I've bent the rules a bit on the _Galactica_, I admit. But we haven't been functioning exclusively as a military vessel, Cain. The _Galactica_ is not only a Battlestar, but a home to her warriors as well."

"Not on _my_ ship, Adama. No offence to your son, he's a fine officer. I witnessed that more than once at Gamoray. But I won't put people at risk for the sake of a little romance."

"I wouldn't ask you to, Cain. As it stands, fraternization is something we've been trying to address within our own ranks. There have been problems, I will admit. Nothing life threatening, thank God, but it has certainly created some uncomfortable situations."

"I can well imagine." The Juggernaut nodded, as he studied the proffered data. "I see Dorado and Bojay are down here as well. Even Sheba . . . and a few other lieutenants I vaguely remember, including Roz. A comprehensive list to be sure. I appreciate that." He nodded in satisfaction.

"You and I both believe that their date of commission isn't the only factor in choosing our officers. Personality and suitability are crucial."

"Absolutely."

"Well, I've leave you to ponder your choices . . ."

"Hold on! You're not getting off that easily. Give me an update on the latest developments on the planet, as well as that Cylon Base Ship." Cain insisted.

"I don't have much time, Cain. I'm on my way to meet the latest addition to our Fleet. An IL Cylon who has apparently switched sides, and is prepared to help us with technical difficulties on board the Abaddon ship."

Cain paused, raising an eyebrow, "Are you trying to fry my brain, Adama? I think my implant just misfired, because I _thought_ you said we were welcoming a Cylon into our midst." He glanced at the medical monitor as if expecting all its alarms to be screaming, but the readouts hadn't changed that he could detect. "You didn't say that, did you?" His tone implored the other to agree with him.

"I did," Adama nodded. "I don't trust him anymore than you do, Cain. He'll be closely guarded." He watched the other blow out a breath of disbelief that he was even considering this. Cain opened his mouth to put his thoughts into words, but Adama headed him off. "I need to retrieve data from that Base Ship. I need some hard facts for Council to corroborate the theory that the Cylons already knew of, and were out looking for Earth, or at least exploring these parts of the universe, far ahead of us over a century ago."

"So once you get the data you need, we'll be disassembling this Cylon for spare parts." Cain couldn't resist a smile.

"This is an unusual opportunity, Cain. We've never had a chance to study an IL before. I don't really have a definite plan right now."

"It's a Cylon, Adama. Our enemy." Cain stated. "It's planning something. Probably how to get word back to Cylon that we're here, so they can send everything in this quadrant at us. Whatever you do, don't let it get anywhere near a communications console."

Adama nodded in agreement. "A good point, Cain." He glanced at his chrono.

"And make sure any internal transponders it might have are damped out."

"Internal transponders. I hadn't thought of that." Adama nodded thoughtfully, thanking the Lords that the brilliant strategist's mind was back at peak performance.

"Why do you think the Cylons were looking for Earth?" Cain asked. "Hades Hole, how would they even find out about it?"

Adama shook his head at first, then his lips quirked as he tried to think of a way to explain Ama's portent to the sceptical Juggernaut. Then again, the legendary warrior hadn't met the Empyrean Necromancer yet. Now, _that_ was a meeting that he would like to be there for simply for the entertainment value. "It's a good thing you're sitting down . . ." he began.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Any ideas?" Baker looked up at Dayton. The damned computer had been prompting them for a password, and they had tried hundreds of options by now. Actually, one hundred and thirteen, but who was counting? Baker stood up, stretching his back and yawning.

"It would be totally random and meaningless," Dayton shrugged, sitting down in front of the keyboard, and entering 'random'. He hit 'enter'. "Damn." So he typed 'meaningless'. He frowned. Then he typed 'damn'.

"Well, you did mention that Dickins is the expert," Apollo added from over the Earthman's shoulder as he arrived from speaking with Dr. Paye.

"That's right." Dayton nodded, not feeling particularly confident about that right now. "But it didn't hurt to try. So, what's the word on Starbuck?" He took a moment to glance over at the lieutenant, who appeared to be sleeping once again, thanks to Cassie's hypo. His dark blond head was resting on Luana's lap. She idly stroked his hair.

"Paye said that his latest scans show the internal bleeding has stopped. For now." Apollo replied. "He'll be ready to be moved when the shuttle has arrived."

"What about the sealing? Is he stable enough to take to the _Endeavour_ and marry him off to Luana?" In Starbuck's presence, the idea had seemed completely reasonable. Like most of his wild and hair-brained schemes. There was something bizarrely infectious about the energy that he and Luana exuded while they were together. But now, looking across at the young man, he was having second thoughts. In slumber he looked about twelve years old, at least to an old codger like Dayton.

"Dr. Paye offered to scan my head, and to investigate what happened to my brain," Apollo replied with a wry smile.

"That was good of him." Dayton huffed. "He's a bit different than Salik, isn't he?"

"They both tell it like they see it. Only Dr. Paye is a little less restrained about how he words things."

"To say the least." Dayton replied, turning as he heard a commotion. "He reminds me of Doctor Russell, our flight surgeon at NASA."

"Okay, what's this I heard about you crash landing the _Endeavour_?" Ryan raved as he crossed the space between them. His face was lit with relief and joy at seeing his friends unharmed. "I told you that I wanted her refuelled, and washed when you came home. Maybe some detailing thrown in since I let you take her out overnight." He winked at Baker. "But, I'm sure I never said anything about wrapping her around a telephone pole." He taunted the other with a motherly affectation to his voice. "Just tell me, Mark Alexander Dayton, what you have to say for yourself?" Abruptly, he came to a stop before Dayton and pulled him out of the chair and into a bear hug.

"I'm okay, Pop. . . uh, I mean, Paddy . . ." Dayton gasped, feeling like a Boa Constrictor had attached itself to him . "We're okay." He added, with a smile at Baker. In a second, Ryan had latched onto Baker as well, slapping him on the back heartily, and then holding him at arm's length, staring at him to reassure himself that the other was still in one piece. Porter and Dickins joined them, and although they were less demonstrative with their affection, their similar joy was just as clear as they grasped their compatriots' hands, energetically pumping them up and down. Dayton held tight to Dickins' grip a moment longer than necessary, not sure what to say to his friend. He searched the other's features, but Dickins didn't really look any different than the last time Dayton had seen him, despite the fact that the man had tried to kill himself. Then there was that cockamamie story that Lia had told them about how Dickins was supposed to be going home to Earth. Apparently, even Ryan believed it. It was all a little confusing and overwhelming just now. "Dick . . ."

"I'm okay too, Mark. Really." Dickins shrugged, nodding a reassurance that the other needed so desperately to hear. "Here," he said, handing his old friend a surviving blackberry.

This small group of men had been there for each other as a constant source of support for thirty years. They'd lived in close quarters, and because of it, knew just about everything there was to know about each other. And the first time they had been separated, Dayton and Baker had crashed on an alien planet, Dickins had tried to kill himself, and Ryan had ended up in the Brig. By all accounts that meant he had better keep a close watch on Porter, because he was next.

"Commander Dayton."

Dayton whirled to see Ama standing behind him beside Chameleon, both of them glancing over towards Starbuck. The Earthman followed their gaze to see a horrified Luana starring at them with her mouth agape. She was gently shaking Starbuck's shoulder, and his eyes snapped open, his warrior's training taking him from asleep to alert in a split micron, despite the dope. Dayton smiled, as Starbuck mimed "frack", the dismay on his features clear for just an instant, before he had his emotions under wraps once again. It seemed the Empyrean Necromancer and the conman had arrived to foil their wedding plans.

"Son!" Chameleon called anxiously, striding over to join Starbuck.

Dayton looked back at the necromancer. "We weren't . . .uh . . . really expecting you."

"I needed to be here, Mark-Dayton. To help you all understand." She glanced over at Starbuck and Lu. "I sense I interrupted something?"

"Uh . . . well, he's doing okay. Holding his own," Dayton adlibbed. "We'll medevac him out of here soon." They could possibly still get Starbuck and Lu to the _Endeavour_, leaving Ama none the wiser. But now that Lu's godmother and Starbuck's father were here, would the two youngsters have second thoughts about excluding them? His conscience hoped so.

"Medevac?" asked Ama.

"Sorry. My language. An abbreviation for _medical evacuation. _Getting injured personnel out of the combat area and back to base or another facility where they can be treated properly."

"Hmm . . . I think I need to speak to Starbuck before that happens." Ama raised her eyebrows, glancing curiously at Apollo. "Wouldn't you say, Captain?"

Apollo's expression remained impassive. "I wouldn't know, Ama."

"Ama . . ." Dayton hesitated, taking a step back when she reached out a hand towards him. He held his hands up in front of him like a shield, then felt ridiculous for doing so.

She chuckled in delight. "Now, just what is he up to? Hmm, Mark-Dayton?" She glanced back at the warrior, who was awkwardly receiving an embrace from his father, the blue eyes locked on Ama, clearly distracted. She smiled at Starbuck, giving him the full force of her gapped-tooth grin. He appeared to shudder slightly in response.

"Follow the yellow brick road . . ." Dickins muttered, lowering himself into the chair in front of the computer keyboard. "Come to Daddy."

"Hope you brought your red ruby slippers, Dick," Ryan quipped, leaning over his shoulder and watching Dickins as he first cracked his knuckles, wiggled them artfully, then lowered them to the keyboard, his fingers flying across the keys. He stopped a moment, cursed, then resumed.

"Now, Paddy, you know that red ruby slippers don't really go with navy blue." Dickins told him.

"Didn't stop Dorothy." Porter inserted.

"Or the Wicked Witch, either." Dickins spared Paddy a brief glance, and cackled evilly. He hadn't been this animated—unless you counted getting into fights—since . . . God knows when.

"Is that navy blue, or Navy blue, Captain?" Dayton posed, leaning over on the other side as the screen suddenly came to life. _BEEP._ "Oh ho! Nice going! What was it? What was the password?"

"There's no place like home, Dayton." Dickins looked over his shoulder, grinning. "It was 'home'."

"How did you know?" Dayton asked, shaking his head in wonder. "That had to be your first guess."

"Anna told me." Dickins replied, as the others looked at each other while the man reminisced about a wife he hadn't seen for thirty years. "In my dream."

"What do we have?" Apollo interrupted their Earth-speak. "Is there anything on how this all came to be here?" The strike captain waved a hand, encompassing the Control Centre.

"Wait a minute . . ." Dayton replied in Standard. Dickins' fingers were still flying across the keys, and the views constantly changing on the immense screen.

"I can't keep up." Apollo shook his head.

"Don't try. Dick speed reads. And one of his degrees is in computer sciences." Dayton told him. "Besides, it's all in English."

"This is unbelievable." Dickins murmured. "H.G. Wells is doing somersaults in his grave."

Apollo moved closer, holding his languatron. "Who?"

"Gentlemen . . . " Dickins looked around at them, pausing dramatically before he continued. "It looks like we have ourselves a portal to Earth."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Colonel," said Athena, on the Battlestar's Bridge.

"Yes?"

"Scanner contact, Commander."

"What is it?" Tigh frowned. A wrecked Cylon Base Ship, a planetary Cylon Base, it seemed that it was only a matter of time until . . . "Cylons?"

"No, sir. It's a comet." She put both a long-range scanner image up on a screen, along with an orbital plot.

"A comet?" asked Tigh, surprised.

"Yes, sir. And according to our scans, it is on collision course with the planet."

"How long until impact?" asked Tigh.

"I estimate. . .six centars, fifteen centons."

"Impact area?"

"The Cylon Base, Colonel."

"Get me Commander Adama."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I was approached by a representative for a Race of incredibly advanced extraterrestrial Beings that we refer to as the Guardians. Precisely who they are, and where they come from, we do not know. Their objective, insofar as we have been able to grasp it, is to watch over the universe, and ensure that Humanity as we know it, has a chance to survive. Not just survive, but, as they put it, 'to evolve'." She raised her finely arched eyebrows sardonically, her eyes glinting. "God knows there's room for it." The woman had stylish, short, light brown hair, brown eyes, and she appeared to be in her mid to late forties, although that could be a conservative estimate. She held her head high, and exuded an inner strength and confidence. Her accent, Dayton couldn't quite place. It sounded superficially American West Coast, yet there was something else in it. Canadian? British? Even a touch of German, perhaps. It was as though she had been spent a little time in many places worldwide. The picture captured her head and shoulders only, so Dayton couldn't really see much of anything else in the dimly lit background scene. Her shirt was a run-of-the-mill black pullover, covering the athletic form. "But I'm already getting ahead of myself." The woman smiled, glancing off-screen for a moment. "I'm Jess Dayton, and I'm the Executive Director of the _Worldwide Aeronautics and Space Agency_." She smirked for a fleeting moment, and muffled laughter was heard in the background of the recording. "Yeah, WASA. Like the cracker."

"Jess . . ." Dayton gasped, his hand reaching out involuntarily towards the screen. Now that he realized who she was, he could see glimpses of the five-year-old girl in the mature woman. Yvonne's fair features, but his eyes and expressions. She was a blend of both parents. "Oh God, Paddy! It's Jessica . . ."

"Easy, lad." Ryan placed a hand on his fellow-astronaut's shoulder, feeling the tension pouring off the other.

"Who's this 'Jess'," asked Cassie. "Not . . .?"

"It's his daughter," Ryan confirmed. "She was five when we left Earth."

"We're a private consortium, made up of philanthropists, financiers, industrialists, technicians, engineers, scientists, academics, biologists, idealists, and astronauts from around the world. A lot of our people were inherited from NASA after the International Space Station was destroyed in 2010, along with the Space Shuttle _Endeavour__. . ._" She scowled for a split second, then squared her shoulders, "And the U.S., along with several other governments, gradually, but drastically cut the funding, claiming that terrorists had infiltrated the program. NASA, once synonymous with pioneering the future in space exploration, scientific discovery and aeronautics research, was reduced to a simpering group of disgruntled people, frustrated with shortsighted, budget-obsessed administrators making politically motivated decisions. Most of us know that there were certain parties looking for any excuse to. . ." She paused, letting out a deep breath, and stroking her chin with one hand thoughtfully, obviously curbing a tirade. She shook her head, her lips quirking ever so slightly. "Well, I'm not going to delve too deeply into who we are and how our organization came to be, because that would take too long. Saving the Earth is a little more important, and quite frankly, we're running out of time."

"The Guardians have warned us that a mechanical race of killers is at this moment combing the galaxy, searching for any and all Human settlements with the intent to destroy them." Jess shook her head slightly. "Human settlements, like Earth. Several, we learned, have already been wiped out. Yet these highly advanced Beings claim that they can't interfere _directly_ in our plight. When we asked why, the explanation was frankly as cryptic as the U.S. tax code, and so we just had to take a lot on faith. But the Guardians have asked us to work with them to deliver a message that is supposed to be received by our brothers . . . somewhere out there . . ." Again, she shook her head in bemusement. "And in return, our brothers will send help."

"From what I understand of these machines, our technology is woefully inadequate to defend ourselves. We're centuries, if not more, behind them, and we wouldn't have a snowball's hope in Hell of defeating them. Unless we get help from a much more technologically sophisticated Race, we're just sitting here like Duck a l'orange. The truth is, given the events of the last several decades, Earth is far too busy worrying about threats from within, to even consider that there are credible threats from without. Those of us who have attempted to spread the Guardians' word are treated contemptuously. Some have disappeared, some, I'm sure, have been killed." Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched with anger or renewed purpose. "Though men of Earth seek to explore space, we have not yet found unequivocal evidence of sentient life out there, and for the most part in our society, that translates into 'there is none'."

"And so, if you _are_ out there, and you _do_ get this message, we beseech you to send help. The Guardians have created a passageway between our existence and yours—not necessarily occurring in the same dimensional timelines—whereby you can send us the scientific data and evidence necessary to prepare Earth for our ultimate conflict with these cybernetic killers. And one day, my brothers, if what the Guardians say is true, your exodus will finally end as you arrive on our planetary doorstep. It's my job . . ." Again she looked off screen, smiling slightly. "And WASA's, to make sure there's still an Earth here to discover. With your help, I've been assured that it is possible. The enemy is still years away, and we will have time to reshape our technology, strengthen our defences, and totally redesign our armed forces so we can take this inevitable fight to a new battlefield, that of Space." She nodded. "We will prevail. We have no other options."

The picture fizzled out.

xxxxxxxxxx

From all appearances, the Colonial Warriors that lined up before the shuttle could have been an honour guard. Only, the occupant that Adama was there to meet was Cylon, not Human. And the IL had been instructed to wait aboard the shuttle for some time while Adama dealt with other matters. Every man and woman who stood erect had a tendency to cast a surreptitious glance at the hatch, waiting for this machine—which had apparently struck a deal—to finally set 'foot' on the Battlestar.

Even Adama found himself drawing a deep, steadying breath as the hatch opened. Base Commander Malus paused in the hatchway, and then strode forward, again pausing on the platform. Curiously, the Cylon was without the usual flamboyant cloak that Adama usually associated with its class. Jolly and Giles, to their credit, were right on the mechanical heels, flanking Malus with an uncertain glance at their own commander. They followed the IL down the stairs, through the line of warriors, finally flanking it before Adama. Both men had their hands resting on their weapons.

"Base Commander Malus," Adama nodded, his hands clasped behind his back, his knuckles white. He could feel his own pulse speeding up. "I'm Commander Adama. Welcome to the _Galactica_."

"I thank you, Commander." Malus nodded politely in return. "You have a fine ship. Most impressive. I look forward to joining her crew."

Jolly cleared his throat, bristling at that. Then looked apologetically at Adama. Giles just scowled, clenching his jaw.

"Commander Malus, while I . . . appreciate that you were able to offer some assistance to my officers on the planet, I hope you realize that time will have to pass, and trust to build, before _any_ of us can even begin to think of you in terms of belonging to our crew."

Malus slowly turned to look at Jolly and Giles before looking back at Adama. While physically impossible, the IL nonetheless gave the impression of smiling at him. "I appreciate your candour, Commander. Lieutenant Starbuck _did_ warn me that most of your warriors would just as soon use me for target practice, as welcome me to your ship. And I must say, I was not expecting a Battlestar, or such an immense Fleet made up of this strange combination of vessels. He had told me that yours was a research vessel, name the _Solarus_."

It was thus established that trust would need to build on both sides. "How long has it been since you were in contact with your own kind, Commander Malus?" Adama asked.

"One-hundred-and-four yahrens."

"And what were you doing this far from Cylon?"

"Investigating planets and their occupants along the way. When we discovered this planet, it was compelling enough for Commander Yugra to leave a small force behind to see who was behind this planetary engineering project, and the small Control Centre left behind. Starbuck tried to convince me that your people were the architects of the project, but the impression I was ultimately left with was that they were muddling their way through it as well, awaiting those who were expert in the field." Malus tilted his head to one side. "I would assume if you engineered the project, then you would know what you were encountering. I believe he mislead me in this as well."

"I see." Adama nodded. If it wasn't a machine, he would have thought the other was disappointed. "And that surprises you?"

"I must admit, that I find the complexity and deviousness of the Human mind to be delightful," Malus' lights seemed to intensify. "A fascinating study."

"You do?" Adama blinked.

"I have always wanted to study Humans. My opportunities to do so on Cylon, as well as my initial data on Humans when I was first activated, was woefully incomplete. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to know that I will be living amongst you."

"I see." Adama replied haltingly. A Cylon who wanted to walk among Humans? Had he blown a few chips? Perhaps his diodes needed to be replaced?

"Starbuck seemed particularly interested in the three Base Ships that continued on, after they had left us behind on the planet," Malus added.

"Three Base Ships?" Adama gasped. Both warriors flanking Malus tensed, turning to regard the IL with a new intensity.

"Yes, Commander. So I shall be interested to see if it is one of those that you found adrift. My own perhaps. She was certainly overdue to check in with us." Malus nodded. "I am anxious to begin my first assignment for your people, and prove my newfound allegiance is not a malignant plot."

"Very well. Please . . ." he waved a hand towards the shuttle. "Lieutenant Jolly and Flight Sergeant Giles will take you there directly."

"Thank you, Commander Adama." Malus bowed, and turned to board the shuttle.

Adama gripped Jolly's arm, and the lieutenant paused as the IL disappeared into the transport with Giles escorting him. "Jolly, shuttle Commander Malus over to the Abaddon Base Ship, off of the Hephaestus. Captain Dorado is in charge there, but I would like you and Giles to stay with Malus and keep an eye on him. Monitor him closely. If there's any indication that he's trying to send a message to Cylon, shoot him."

"With pleasure, Commander." Jolly replied, all too seriously, before turning smartly and taking the stairs two at a time.

"Commander Adama! Colonel Tigh on the comm, sir," Master Chief Varica told him.

"Thank you," Adama replied, crossing to the communications unit. "Adama, here."

"Commander, we've picked up a comet heading for the planet. We expect impact at the point of the Cylon Base in just over six centars."

"Send a message to the landing party, Tigh," said Adama. "Inform them of the impending impact. All frequencies."

"Yes, Commander," replied Tigh.

"Once the message is away, prepare to get under way."

"Course?"

"For the planet. Inform the Fleet that we'll leave behind two Viper squadrons as escort."

"Commander?"

"As long as we are limited to old-style carrier wave communications, we may not be able to effect rescue of our people before that comet impacts the planet if we stay here. The closer we are to it . . ."

"And the Dynamos?"

"We'll just have to traverse that nebula when we come to it. The rescue party made it by them. I have to presume that we will as well. Scanners?"

"The scanners are clear, Commander. The _Pegasus_ might not be combat ready, but her missile launchers and most of her turrets still work should they run into any hostiles." Tigh added.

"I'm on my way to the Bridge. Adama out." He turned, as the shuttle's engines fired up, and she began her taxi towards launch. Wrecked Base Ships, engineered planets, turncoat Cylons. Now a comet at the worst possible time. What next?

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton stared at the screen long after it had gone blank. Ryan still had a hand resting on his friend's shoulder, and Cassie slipped an arm around the Earth commander on his other side, giving him a squeeze. He glanced down at her, blinking back the moisture in his eyes, nodding his unspoken thanks at her quiet support.

_Jess. . ._

"A daughter to be proud of, by the looks of her, Mark-Dayton." Ama told him, looking across at her own errant children. Starbuck and Lu were talking quietly, probably about this latest development. "She follows in your footsteps."

"Yes . . ." he replied hoarsely. "I . . . uh . . . I didn't see that one coming." Dayton shook his head, still a little shell-shocked by the latest development. "But she looks to be well into her forties. We've only been gone thirty years . . ." He suddenly felt very small.

"She's in a different timeline, Mark." Baker replied. "We talked about how that might happen, remember?" They had run some of the math Dayton had come up with over the years past Wilker, using the _Galactica_'s mainframe. Several interesting possibilities had popped up in the equations, including the possibility of time displacement; the idea that while traversing such a wormhole might _seem_to take only moments, it could in actuality be years between entry and exit. Forward, _or_ back. The existing data, however, were too scanty for any firm conclusions. "That we could one day get back to Earth to find out that we technically haven't left yet, or that centuries or even millennia have passed. I wonder what timeline the portal will open to?"

"Dayton's daughter talked about not having much time left before the Cylons get there. To me that indicates she's expecting us in her lifetime," Apollo inserted. "These Guardians that she referred to, do you think she means the Ship of Light Beings?" He glanced at Boomer. "We've been guessing all along that they're involved here."

"Ama." Ryan growled. "Tell them."

"Yes, Captain." Ama replied, with a tolerant glance at Ryan. "They are one and the same. I've spoken to them, and to Commander Adama as well. This Control Centre has the capacity to open a portal to Earth, as Captain Dickins has determined. The Guardians' intent is to send Dick-Dickins back home."

"But I want to go too!" Dayton burst out unexpectedly like a petulant child, as the others paused to let it sink in. How many nights had he sat and stared at that home movie of Yvonne and the kids, wondering if he would ever see them again? Then suddenly he finds out that not only is Jessica alive, but she's the Executive Director for a new privately funded worldwide space agency on Earth. He stepped forward, letting loose his grip on Cassie without a second thought. "That was my kid! Hell, she says some of their people have disappeared. That they might be dead! By the sound of things, Jess could use my help, Paddy!"

"We _all_ want to go, Mark. But I get the idea that most of us are SOL . . ." Ryan shrugged, reverting briefly back to English. "They specified Dick to Ama."

"How can you say that?" Dayton turned on him, his face a mask of emotional turmoil. "What gives _them_ the right to decide which of us go home, and which ones stay, Paddy?" He glanced at Ama, and repeated, "What gives them the right, huh? I mean who the hell died and made them God?"

"I . . ." began Ryan.

"Christ sakes! We spend thirty years in the pit of hell, and now when a way home opens up like a gift from God, some glorified . . ." He stopped a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his fists, trying to understand these Guardians and their role in the universe. Were they really angels, or merely another race, albeit an incredibly advanced one, just jerking his puppet strings? Was there even a difference? Would he ever know? "They have the gall to pass out tickets?" His face flushed with anger as he shouted his questions aloud, more perhaps to the Guardians than anyone in the room with him.

"You are needed here," Ama replied simply, casting a sympathetic glance at Cassiopeia. "Didn't John tell you that?"

"And where the hell is John now?" Dayton snapped. He locked eyes with Ama for a long moment, not missing the second glance she spared Cassiopeia. The med tech looked a little lost, standing off to the side, her arms wrapped about her in self-preservation. He let out a deep sigh, his anger dissipating for now, then turned back towards his lady. "Cassiopeia . . ."

Callously, and without even a 'so long, it's been good to know you', he had walked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ." Dayton grimaced, trying to understand this compulsion, this burning need to suddenly and irrationally hold the executive director of WASA on his knee like she was a little girl again. Could he even compare the depth of that emotion to what he now felt for Cassiopeia? Sure, he loved his lady, but Jessica and Lauren . . . He shook his head, feeling tears burning the backs of his eyes as his chest ached with pent up emotions. "She's my kid. For thirty years, I've hoped against hope that she and the rest might still be okay. Now. . .she's my kid."

Cassie smiled tentatively and squeezed Dayton's outreaching hand. She'd seen the sacrifices a parent would make for a child. Fleetingly, she thought of Cain and a much younger Sheba. Her relationship with Cain would have undoubtedly gone further if there hadn't been such anger and resentment . . . Children came first, at almost any age. She met Apollo's eye for a moment, knowing he'd feel the same about Boxey.

"She's your middle-aged kid, Mark," Ryan pointed out rationally. "She's been without you this long, she can live without . . ."

Dayton abruptly swung, his fist connecting with Ryan's jaw, and the other man landed in a heap on the ground. Still, his anger poured forth, "I remember my children, Paddy!" he bellowed, reverting to English again in his anger. "I'm not living in a goddamned fantasy world like you, pretending that life is cheery, and all the happiness I need is at the bottom of just one more tankard of ale!"

Ryan rolled over slowly, cradling his jaw, and wiping at the blood that trickled from his mouth. He set his dubious gaze on Dayton, holding his penetrating stare, and counting down the seconds mentally, until the other started to squirm. It usually took about forty-two seconds. This was an all time personal best of twenty-seven. He could already see the regret in Dayton's eyes. "Feel better now, Cowboy?"

Then Baker was there, helping Ryan to his knees and simultaneously glaring at his commander. Porter joined them.

"Not particularly, no." Dayton rubbed his face, stepping forward. "I'm sorry, Paddy. That was out of line. Way out of line." He glanced at the mixture of accusatory and disbelieving looks directed at him from Colonials and Earthmen alike. Only Starbuck seemed unsurprised. Then again, he'd been on the receiving end of Dayton's temper a time or two as well. "Everybody, I'm sorry. I'm . . . not myself." He turned, walking away, stopping in front of a savaged Cylon computer bank.

"Man, you pack a wallop," Ryan murmured, his thumb and forefinger disappearing inside his mouth, and picking out a tooth. "Bloody hell . . . that was one of my good ones . . ."

"Damn good thing Sire Uri wasn't here, is all I can say." Dickins shot back.

"Uri?" Dayton asked turning back to look at the rest, not understanding. "That fat, greasy politician?"

Porter nodded. "He's the one that baited Dickins and Ryan on the _Rising Star_. He's been trying to defame your character, Dayton, mostly through us. Obviously, he's got his knickers in a twist since you were appointed as Earth Liaison Officer. But, apparently if he had just waited for you to lose your temper back in the Fleet, you could have ruined your reputation all on your own."

"Ryan?" Dayton didn't know why he had to hear it from Paddy, but he did. If Paddy said it, it was true. It was as simple as that . . . no matter how hard it was to hear.

"Ama and Chameleon helped us out." Ryan shrugged. "Personally, after Dick shot himself, I wanted to throw Uri out an airlock, but instead we beat him playing one of his own games. He's being charged with extortion. For starters. He'll be humiliated, and lose what's left of his reputation after Ama pointed out publicly how he was pressuring for settlement on a planet that was currently rife with Cylons," Ryan explained with a respectful nod towards the Necromancer. He looked back at Dayton, meeting his gaze. "He shouldn't bother you or your political ambitions for a good long time."

Dayton digested that for a moment, trying to detect a hint of sarcasm or implication. There wasn't any. "Obviously, he didn't know that if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."

"Well, he knows now," Ryan returned. "At least he will once their Sire. . .uh. . ."

"Solon," inserted Cassiopeia.

"Right. Sire Solon gets through with him."

"Thanks, Paddy. Jimmy. Dick. I wish I could have been there . . ." Dayton started to explain exactly what it cost him to find out that his men had ended up being targeted—one ultimately trying to shoot himself, and the other ending up in the Brig—because of him. But it would sound a bit trite with Ryan wiping the blood from his face.

"We know. And here you thought you'd be the one having all the fun on your little joyride." Ryan rolled his eyes, as he looked back at Starbuck, and then at the other battered and filthy survivors of this mission. "We wanted our share, too."

"It never gets boring." Dayton replied, not understanding why Cassiopeia's head snapped around at his comment, and she searched his gaze.

"Hey, gather round." Dickins told them from the computer. "From the looks of this, the wormhole is pre-programmed, so we can't change the destination, or timeline, but . . . we can open and close it at our will."

"That must take a lot of power," said Porter. "To open a wormhole at will?"

"Not to mention one that can reach across the whole star system," added Baker. "Those Dynamos are even more powerful as an energy source than I thought."

Apollo nodded, leaning over Hummer's shoulder. "Can we control the energy wavelons being emitted by the Dynamos, like we did from the pirate base?"

"I believe so, Captain. From the looks of it, I can put them into a dormant state. Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to get communications up and running with the _Galactica_ on a regular frequency, instead of beta channel where we're dealing with a time delay, which we had to use from the _Endeavour_. The wavelons from the Dynamos are still blocking our outgoing signals."

"I'm on it." Dickins replied.

"Does it say what year on Earth it'll be going to?" Dayton asked, immediately crossing back, to look over the data.

"2055." Dickins replied, shaking his head slightly and pausing in his work. "Anna would be seventy-five years old. My kids . . ." He let out a long breath between his teeth. "God willing, they'll all be alive and well."

"Dayton's daughter said we should send scientific data and necessary evidence to not only get them up to speed technologically speaking, but also to prove that we in fact exist," Technician Hummer pointed out, his hands resting on the back of Dickins' chair as the data flew across the screen. "Sounds like we need to make an impression."

"Ask and ye shall receive." Ryan smiled. "I went to the Bodleian . . ."

"The Archives?" Apollo asked.

Ryan nodded, pointing to the pack he had brought with him. "I collected some history on the Colonials and Cylons, as well as some footage of the pirate base, and the _Endeavour_ and us arriving in the Fleet. Our whole story, actually. There are also some files on Colonial technology, and a languatron." He looked around the former Cylon base. "We could also include some wrecked centurions, so they can examine enemy technology."

"Good work." Hummer nodded. "But, personally, I think that someone with technical know-how and expertise should be going along on this trip." He tapped himself on the chest.

"Kid, you'd be a fish out of water," Dayton told him, but in a perfectly logical way, it made sense. Who would be better to teach Earth about preparing for the Cylons, than one of the Colonials with the necessary qualifications. "Yeah, okay. It's brilliant, but are you sure?"

Hummer smiled, glancing over to Starbuck. "Hey, Lieutenant, this will be the first bet I've ever won with you. I'm going to set foot on Earth, before anyone."

Starbuck dramatically patted down his pants for cubits. "I seem to be short, Hummer," he smiled ruefully, but his admiration was written on his face. "Can it wait till pay day?"

"Will the Guardians allow it?" Ryan asked aside, looking to Ama.

She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes, and inclining her head. Then she looked at Ryan again, "Yes, it's permitted."

"All right. The Dynamos are powered down." Dickins told them, looking back as Boomer moved to the Cylon Control Centre. "Try the comm."

"This is Lieutenant Boomer on Planet 'P' to _Galactica_. Come in _Galactica_."

"_We read you, Boomer. Go ahead_." Athena's voice came through.

"Where to start?" Boomer glanced back as Apollo leaned in beside him.

"_I'll start, Lieutenant,_" Colonel Tigh interrupted. "_We've picked up a comet that's on a collision course with the planet. From our projected estimate of its trajectory, it's going to hit the Cylon Base in _. . ." He paused, "_Exactly six centars. Now_."

"Holy frack . . ." someone murmured.

"Understood, Colonel." Apollo adjusted his chrono. "What we have down here is a portal or wormhole to Earth. We saw a recorded message left for us from the Executive Director of Earth's _Worldwide_ _Aeronautics and Space Agency, _asking us for help to assist them in their own fight against the Cylons. The Ship of Lights' Beings have warned them of the Cylons' eventual arrival, and have projected Earth's annihilation if we don't send them the technological assistance to get them ready."

"_I'll inform the commander, Apollo,_" Tigh replied. "_In the meantime, we're underway to the planet ourselves, to assist in rescue operations, if needed. Now_ . . ."

"Colonel, Technician Hummer has volunteered to accompany Captain Dickins through the wormhole." Apollo added. "And Dr. Ryan has brought enough historical data along to explain to the Earthmen just who we are, and that this threat is valid."

"_I__t sounds like you have everything in place_." Tigh frowned at the coincidence. "_Can you get the portal functioning in less than six centars_?"

Apollo looked back at Hummer and Dickins. "Can we?"

"Absolutely. They've made the procedure as elementary as launching a Viper," the tech replied.

"I don't know how to launch a Viper," Dickins returned with the benefit of the languatron.

"One more thing," Dayton added. "Watching footage of history is one thing, but the proof is in the pudding, as we like to say. Now just imagine, arriving back on Earth in such a way, that would prove beyond a doubt that we disappeared through a wormhole thirty years ago, and then returned through _another_ wormhole, with Colonial technology that will save Earth from the Cylons." For a moment he paused to recall that he had considered destroying these people, thinking they could potentially lead the Cylons to his beloved homeworld. Now it turned out, that the Cylons were already on the way, and if the Fleet hadn't survived, Earth would have perished. Independence Day aside.

"What's on your mind?" Boomer asked, feeling a moment of déjà vu.

"A perfect example of Earth mixed with Colonial technology. We send them home in the _Endeavour_."

xxxxxxxxxx

The _Galactica_ was on its way to rendezvous with the rescue and research teams. As acting executive officer of the _Pegasus_, it suddenly hit Sheba like a pluton bomb that along with Dorado on the Cylon Base Ship, she was now in de facto command of the Fleet. Pride swelled in her chest, even as her eyes checked over the scanners that had only recently been brought back on-line after extensive repairs and upgrades to the Bridge's systems.

By now, the IL-class Cylon known as Base Commander Malus would be setting foot on a Base Ship for the first time in over a hundred yahrens, if what it reported was true. Frankly, she had her doubts. Then again, trusting a Cylon came about as naturally as breathing underwater. Her instincts fought against it, knowing that it could be fatal.

"Captain, I'm picking up a coded transmission . . . long-range . . . its origin is the Abaddon Base Ship!" Lieutenant Varrus announced, his features pale and confused. Then his eyes went wide. "I'm certain it's Cylon."

"What?" Sheba asked in dread, recovering quickly. "Get me Captain Dorado on the Base Ship. NOW!"

Raetic nodded, reading her mind. "Done. Captain Dorado, sir . . . I mean . . .."

"Dorado, we're picking up a coded Cylon signal that you're transmitting! What in the deepest depths of Hades Hole is going on over there?" Sheba snapped, her instinct telling her it had taken mere centons for the Cylon to betray them.

Rapid fire, Dorado ordered his team, "Find the source of that transmission, and kill it!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Once again, all eyes looked to Mark Dayton as if he was a few Cylons short of a Base Ship, just because he had suggested taking the _Endeavour_through the wormhole. Man, it was a tough crowd to be creative in.

"Dayton, maybe you've forgotten, but that bird needs work. You shot out the goddamned windscreens, and after that, we crashed." Baker glanced at Ama. "The two being unrelated, of course."

"Evidently," she replied with another glance towards Starbuck, Luana and Chameleon.

"Hey, how long could it take to replace a couple windscreens, and do a few repairs?" Dayton replied. "Remember how quickly we whipped that bird into shape to start this mission? Compared to then, this will be a piece of cake. Her landing gear is still pretty much intact. We could use Jenny and her crew to affect some quick repairs. We already have Colonel Tigh on the horn; he could get that happening on the double. Especially if the_Galactica_ is going to rendezvous with us anyway. We should be able to do it."

"_Captain_," Tigh interrupted over the comm. "_What do you think? Your father talked about possibly sending more than one ship through this wormhole, the whole Fleet, in fact. But there's obviously not enough time to even contemplate that. You want to be long gone from the planet when the comet arrives"_

"Exactly, Colonel. We suddenly find a shortcut to Earth, and then find out it's going to be destroyed in six centars."

"Coincidence?"

"I wish I knew." Apollo returned with a look at Ama.

She simply smiled enigmatically.

"Could the _Galactica _destroy it?" asked Starbuck, leaning forward. "Her forward batteries, or by projecting her deflectors in its path?" He looked at them all. "It worked over Terra."

"_A moment_," said Tigh, directing Rigel to run a projection sim. The results were not long in coming. "_Not possible, Lieutenant. According to scans, the comet's mass is over twelve times that of the entire Fleet combined. We'd almost certainly destroy ourselves trying to deflect it_."

"Holy frack . . ." Starbuck murmured in return.

"And if you tried to nuke it," said Ryan, "there's too much danger of it fragmenting. Instead of a single object, the whole planet could be plastered with chunks."

"_Making things even worse_," said Tigh.

"Those Ship of Lights bunch don't do things by halves, do they?" Ryan remarked dryly.

"John appearing from thin air, and turning my clothes white again would have probably convinced me to just send Dick. No need to hurl a comet at a planet and chase us out of here." Dayton remarked.

"When you think about it, it also deters any plans for settlement here." Lia added.

"Speaking of Sire Uri." Apollo nodded.

"Exactly." Ryan nodded. "Imagine the damage, if this thing is as big as they just said. It's like killing two birds with one . . . comet, so to speak." Ryan pointed out. "Obviously, these jokers want us continuing the trek, and not even stopping to think about settling."

"'I gave you life, I can take it away'." Dayton mused about the possible destruction of a recently engineered planet.

"They're a testy bunch. Maybe they really are angels, as people on Earth imagined them. Sounds like the 'forty days and forty nights' treatment to me." Ryan replied. "It leaves you with the distinct impression that we should be good little girls and boys, and do as we're told." He shuddered.

"A distinctly Ryanish viewpoint." Dayton returned, an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe that was the intention all along." Boomer inserted. "Engineer this planet to attract us here, a planet perfectly suited for our kind, then open the wormhole for this sole purpose, and finally destroy any trace that it was ever here to begin with."

"Why?"

"To prevent the Cylons from using it later." Boomer suggested.

"Boomer's right. One way or the other, we would have had to destroy it." Apollo agreed. "Like the pirate base. We could never run the risk of the Cylons discovering it, and using the technology to further expand their empire."

"Expanding their empire is just what they seem to be working on." Starbuck returned, reminding them all that the Cylons were nearing Earth. "Still, the comet seems like overkill to facilitate getting a couple guys to Earth."

"Hey, it could save an entire planet. That's not small potatoes." Dayton returned.

"I believe Colonel Tigh was wondering if the _Endeavour_ was the best option, Captain." Lia reminded him.

Apollo nodded to himself, as he thought over the logistics of the operation. "Getting the _Endeavour_ ready is possible, if we get the crew here ASAP. It would certainly send a convincing message to those on Earth if a ship that disappeared forty-five of their Earth yahrens ago, suddenly reappeared with our modifications."

"Alright, I've have Jenny prepare a crew and supplies. Let me know what you need," said Tigh

"Yes, sir. We'll need to take a shuttle to the _Endeavour_ to do preliminary diagnostics, and bring the Earthmen with us." Apollo glanced at Starbuck and Lu meaningfully. "Expect that same shuttle to transfer Starbuck to the Life Station after the _Galactica_ arrives here."

"_I'll notify Dr. Salik. Colonel Tigh out_."

"Alright, people. Let's get Starbuck loaded onto that hover-stretcher. Baker, you're good with technology. Now that we have the system up and running, are you qualified to operate this equipment?" Apollo indicated the small Control Centre with Earth incorporated hardware.

"Affirmative." Baker replied.

"Dr. Paye and I will accompany Starbuck, Apollo." Cassie inserted. "Luana should come too. I want to do some further investigations in the Life Station on her."

Apollo nodded at her approvingly. He'd almost forgotten the bride. "Right. Lia and Boomer, you're piloting. Dayton, Hummer and Dickins, you're coming with us."

"A solid plan, Captain," Ama smiled, then glanced over at Starbuck. "I think perhaps Chameleon and I will take that same shuttle to keep an eye on Starbuck." She smiled as the lieutenant closed his eyes and grimaced as if he was in sudden pain. "I think that I've completed what I set out to do."

"I won't argue with that," Starbuck returned wryly with a glance at his betrothed.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

With his eyes closed, he could see brightly sparking lights that had to be the result of each of his nerve endings rapid firing, as Cassiopeia, bit by tortuous bit, ripped the flesh from his back. Starbuck held his breath, nausea overwhelming him as his tissue clung stubbornly to the field dressing, no matter how much irrigation solution the med tech _claimed_ to be saturating it with. Of course, the good thing was he couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten anything—Black-Backed Bobak?—so it was unlikely his undulating stomach would actually betray him. Vaguely, he could feel Luana's fingers pushing his hair, damp with sweat, back off his forehead. She murmured in his ear, trying to offer some comfort.

"Almost done," Cassie assured him. "Don't forget to breathe. It will help you relax."

That was a likely story. He'd heard that old 'breathe' lecture more than once in his time, and in his experience, it was seemed to work better for the med tech, than the patient. What he really needed was more drugs, but the health team was of the opinion that he had reached his max just now, and that he could 'breathe his way through the pain' for the couple centons it would take to remove the dressing that someone had evidently bonded to his wound, probably with some form of Malus' condensed tylinium. "Just do it," he grunted at her, refusing to cede. He hung onto that breath like it was a lifeline, until his head began to swim, and the dizziness and nausea were more distracting than the pain.

Then the last piece was peeled off, and the agony ended, settling into a comparatively pleasant burn. He slumped into a boneless puddle of relief, finally releasing the breath he was holding, and sucking air back into his lungs.

Cassiopeia waited until Starbuck's breathing settled into a normal pattern, before leaning over him, and checking his wounds one more time before the Colonial shuttle was due to take off. Dr. Paye was awaiting her decision. As she had warned Starbuck, much of the tissue had a yellowish tinge to it, and was either beginning to slough, or stubbornly remain in place, preventing the application of the regeneration therapy. However, there were no signs of infection, so far, thus the significant pain the warrior was having was merely related to his wound, as well as the limited medications they could treat him with due to his pre-existing kidney condition. Relatively, it was good news.

"Well?" Paye asked.

"It's not ready. He needs surgical debridement," Cassie replied, feeling Starbuck tense beneath her hands.

"Agreed. But we can do that on the _Galactica_," Paye replied with a nod.

"Debridement?" Starbuck asked. He had thought this torture was all in aid of him starting the regeneration treatment.

"Removal of the necrotic tissue, Starbuck." She shook her head "The wound bed has to be viable with a good capillary bed for the regeneration therapy to work." Cassiopeia explained. "Good tissue won't grow on dead tissue."

The warrior groaned. "More surgery?"

"You want to fly a Viper again?" Starbuck didn't answer. "Thought so."

"Well, at least you'll be in a proper surgical suite with a sterile field. I, for one, am very excited about that." Paye replied dispassionately. Then he looked to his med tech. "Treatment?"

"Enzymatic and autolytic treatment until we get back to the Life Station." Cassie replied, pulling supplies from her med kit.

"Go ahead," Paye nodded, turning to find a place on the shuttle to call his own.

"Auto-what?" Starbuck asked irritably.

Ama had been circling him like a hungry predator toying with its tiring prey since they had left the Cylon Base. He knew that between his physical symptoms of discomfort, and the Necromancer's stalking, that he was losing his patience and his sense of humour. Besides, it hadn't occurred to him that a trip through the caverns on a hover-stretcher would leave him feeling hovermobile-sick. He was a Viper pilot, for Sagan's sake!

"These are treatments to start the debridement process, Starbuck." Cassie lowered her voice, as she saturated his wound once again, cleaning it. "It won't hurt."

"Right," he grunted, because it already did. He held his breath again, while she deftly applied auto-something-or-others and then another bandage.

"You know, breathing is necessary to get the oxygen to your brain, and I'm beginning to think you've been holding your breath a long, long time." Cassie teased him, trying to lighten the mood. "A cumulative effect perhaps."

Chameleon laughed from across the aisle where he and Ama sat watching. "He used to hold his breath to get his own way when he was a toddler." His face crinkled in fond remembrance. "I'd almost forgotten. His face would get so red, that Gabrielle would remark he was aptly named . . .."

"Chameleon." Starbuck growled.

The conman chuckled, raising his hands in self-defence. "I know. I know. Never mind."

"For a centon there, I thought we were going to finally find out Starbuck's given name." Ama posed, lifting her eyebrows in amusement.

"It's 'Starbuck'." the warrior replied determinedly. "Just like on the enlistment form!"

"He's not fond of his given name, I take it?" Ama smiled.

"He told me that he has a betting pool on it, so I've been sworn to secrecy." Chameleon returned with a sceptical glance at his son. "As well as banned from participating for obvious reasons. As to how much he likes it, I still remember the look on his face when I told him what it was. 'Delight' is not a word I would associate with it."

"What about a little hint?" Cassie smiled at the conman.

"He was the light of his mother's life," Chameleon returned, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at his son. "In fact, that's exactly what she was . . .".

"By the way, Dayton's going to marry Lu and I when we get to the _Endeavour_." Starbuck abruptly jumped in.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was too slow. Way too slow. The signal from the ancient _Abaddon_ Base Ship had been transmitting into space for forty microns. That was almost enough time for any modern _Hades _class Base Ship to trace its origin, once its signal was received. Any more and the Cylons would be certainly be coming to investigate. Every additional micron put the Fleet more and more at risk. Suffering sweet Sagan, with the _Galactica_ off to rendezvous with the rescue team, the _Pegasus_ limping along in space, and this old tub only just starting to come back to life, it wasn't looking good. Sheba had signed off and was contacting the _Galactica_ to update Commander Adama.

Meanwhile, they needed to stop the Cylon signal. They had tried every obvious option to them from cutting power to the electro-identification system, to shutting back down the reactor powering the ship. Nothing had worked. The controls had frozen, and were prompting them for an entry code that they simply didn't have. If only Dorado had a communications aficionado like Lieutenant Athena to give him some input. Or an officer with the experience of Adama, Cain, or Tigh. Instead, he had Bojay . . .who was just about ready to throttle Dr. Wilker.

"What did you do?" Bojay snapped. Usually even-tempered and easy-going, the captain looked close to losing his self-control. His eyes flew wildly over the Cylon control panels where they could see that the transponder was continuing to emit the deadly signal, but none of them had the faintest idea how to turn it off.

"I was simply bringing a few more systems on-line," Wilker replied, his brow furrowed as he pulled on his chin and frowned at the controls while Lieutenant Rooke randomly hit buttons, toggled switches, pulled levers, and adjusted knobs like some kind of mad scientist in a bad melodrama.

"Simply?" Bojay returned incredulously. "If you didn't know what you were doing, why didn't you wait for the frackin' Cylon consultant!"

"Sometimes you have to take chances . . ." Wilker explained himself, even as he leaned forward to try and figure out how to cut their losses.

"Not with a hundred-thousand civilian lives!" Bojay exploded, slamming a fist down on the control panel. "If the tin heads pick this up . . ."

"Bojay, enough!" Dorado snapped. As much as he hated to admit it, there was only one chance that they could kill the transmission in a hurry . . . other than having the _Pegasus_' missiles blow them to Hades hole, which he'd just as soon avoid, especially since this was technically his first command. "Where's that IL?"

On cue, Base Commander Malus entered the frenzied Control Centre, still flanked by Jolly and Giles.

"You called?" asked the IL.

"I'm Captain Dorado. I'm in charge." Dorado said, sweeping the commsuite with a wave of his hand. "Can you fix this?"

"Oh, my!" Malus intoned.

"What's happening?" Jolly asked, sensing the tension, knowing something was dreadfully wrong.

"Dr. Wilker was bringing some systems back on-line, and the computer initiated the electro-identification system. The transponder is sending some kind of coded Cylon signal, and we can't shut it down!" Dorado replied.

"How long has it been . . .?" Jolly checked his chrono.

"A centon. Now." Dorado replied, glancing at his chrono. He could feel sweat trickling down his temples. With a snarl, he pulled his weapon, aiming it at Malus. "If you're really switching sides, you have about five microns to turn this thing off, or I'm going to bust your bobble, bub."

"_Bust my bobble_?" Malus repeated. "I must say, I think that's my favourite. The alliteration is particularly enchanting."

In three short steps, the IL crossed to the Control Centre, touched a smooth area of the console, and opened an access port that up until then, none of the others had noticed. He was abruptly surrounded by laser-toting Colonial Warriors, each muzzle aimed at his head..

"What are you doing?" Dorado asked suspiciously.

"I'm interfacing with the main computer to shut down the electro-identification beacon that is being transmitted this very centon towards Cylon," Malus replied, his right hand pausing mere centimetrons from the access port, his smallest digit a stump in comparison to the other "fingers", but poised to connect.

"Are you going to trust a Cylon! It could have initiated all this with its internal transponders!" Dr. Wilker warned them.

"A centon, ten microns." Brie announced sharply.

"We had Malus disable the internal transponders before we left the _Galactica_ on Commander Adama's orders," Jolly told them. He held up his scanner. "We've been monitoring for signals ever since. They're still dysfunctional. If the IL had something to do with this, I don't know what it could be."

"And I'm less of a Cylon for it . . ." Malus returned, glancing at Dorado. "Well, Captain?"

"Do it!"

Malus plugged into the port, his digit auto-rotating into position with a whirring sound. His lights seemed to intensify, as though his power circuits were affected.

"What's taking so long?" Bojay demanded.

"I need to input my command code." Malus replied. "Quiet, please."

"I can't believe this," muttered Giles, looking at his fellow warriors. "A Cylon just told us to shut up."

"Shut up, Giles." Jolly snapped, then he winced at his own tone, lightly punching the warrior in the shoulder. "Feel better now?"

"Loads."

Above them, on a display, the schema of the ship's entire communication system was displayed. In a rapid sequence of images, the routes and paths throughout the ship's systems were highlighted. After just over three and a half microns, a graphic of a system node began flashing, and Cylon script raced by too fast for any save Malus to follow. The node flashed, and then went dark. The commsuite also went dark, and the signal died. With his other hand, Malus pressed several keys, lighting up a few controls again, and then he removed his finger from the data port.

"The signal has stopped," said Wilker, scanning.

"There," said Malus, turning to Bojay. "From data I retrieved, as well as diagnostic studies I just performed, it seems as though the ship was exposed to a solar flare a hundred yahrens ago. She's been dark since then. It's automatic for a ship that long out of contact with Cylon, to transmit a homing beacon for investigation and retrieval purposes. The ship's long-range transmitter has been deactivated, the entire system put on stand-by. It is now in passive mode."

"Can we contact the Fleet?" asked Giles.

"You can access the short-range system by inputting a code, Lieutenant," replied Malus. He indicated one screen. "By entering the code 'STARBUCK', low-gain communications with your ship will be possible."

"Starbuck?" asked Bojay. Jolly snorted in laughter, elbowing Giles. "Well, whatever boosts your Base Ship, I guess."

"The long-range system would also require an access code to reactivate, but I have put the system in programming mode."

"Meaning?" asked Wilker.

"Meaning you can reset the code to one of your choosing, Doctor. The current code is an alpha-numeric sequence, _GH43K6VDS0947HQMP8206GHHGKJGHDF8754BGHGFGYF5467 FGF4994437HVGHFDJNK009773745VDFGHJKC,_ followed by a graphic sequence, )(&#"+!!+-. In its current state, you can replace this with a code of your choice." Malus turned his back to them, and his optical scanners shut down. "Now you may devise a code of your choosing, one that will be unknown to myself." For a few microns, no one said anything. "You see," said Malus, "I really do mean it when I said I pledge fealty to your Commander. Lieutenant Starbuck and Captain Apollo have put their reputations and honour on the line to advocate for me. I do not intend to let them down."

"Uhh. . ." said Wilker.

"Right," said Bojay, unable to take his eyes off of Malus for a moment. "Well, let's do it, Doc."

"New code, going in now," said Wilker.

"I hope to God it has a few less characters." Giles whispered to Jolly.

"All right. Get me Captain Sheba on the _Pegasus_." Dorado told Rooke.

"What do I look like, a Communications Officer?" Rooke returned.

"Far from it, you're not pretty enough." Dorado returned. "But do it anyway."

xxxxxxxxxx

Other than the warm, firm pressure of Lu squeezing his hand, to Starbuck it almost seemed as if time had stopped. Ama and Chameleon were starring at them from where they sat in the shuttle. Chameleon was frowning, and his eyes dropped from his son's as if in disappointment. Starbuck realized at that moment he hadn't thought this through from all angles. What a surprise, Bucko. Something that's never happened before! Chameleon pulled on his chin, like a man in need of a sonic shave, but sat quietly, in thought.

Ama climbed to her feet, regarding them with a face that could have been carved of stone. She held her hands out before her, palms upwards, as if she was about to beseech her beloved Triquetra for guidance, or berate her for not watching the children. "Did you both forget that we have an Empyrean Imperial Wedding planned for the Vernal Equinox with four hundred guests coming? I've checked the stars, and it is the most favourable day for the Goddess to bless your union."

Starbuck blinked, expecting her to blast him into next secton, or turn him into a particularly memorable form of slime mould, _not _explain about fortuitous dates for holy matrimony. "Must have slipped my mind." He didn't even recall inviting Triquetra . . . but then again, he hadn't seen the Goddess list. Now, it could have been the drugs, but . . . "Is Triquetra free today?" He glanced at his chrono. "Say, in fifteen centons, or so?"

A lesser man would have withered and died beneath her glare. As it was, he felt sure he lost some fluids.

"For Sagan's sake, Ama, Starbuck could have died today! Lords, we both almost died yesterday." Luana inserted heatedly, her dark eyes flashing dangerously as she stepped forward to meet her scowling Godmother head on. "I'm not going to waste any more time waiting to get sealed. We don't know how much of it we have left. Hades Hole, the way things are going, we may not even get off this planet."

"I ought to turn the both of you into porcines . . ." Ama sputtered, shaking her head at them as though they were ill-mannered children.

"Porcine or not, Dayton's marrying us as soon as we reach the _Endeavour_," Starbuck returned, effectively ending the debate. Or so he hoped. He glanced at his father who seemed to be studying his hands. Closely. "But . . . we'd rather be sealed with your approval. And your presence. Chameleon?" The old conman's lips tightened marginally and then he sighed. Starbuck hesitated, still having trouble getting that word to pass his lips, even—or especially—after all this time . . . "Father?"

The conman looked at him then, smiling slightly. He considered them both for a moment, as Luana's hand curled back around his son's. "Time is precious, Starbuck. I won't argue that point. At least tell us this was a sudden decision."

"Well, we didn't plan ahead to get vaporized, and then have the _Endeavour_ crash land in a rescue attempt, if that's what you're wondering." The warrior returned his smile with a wry grin.

"We didn't crash land . . .!" Dayton interrupted from several seats away.

Ryan smacked him in the back of the head. "Stay out of it."

Starbuck smiled, meeting his father's eyes. "Believe me, if I had wanted to elope, I would have done a better job than this."

"No, I don't suppose you did plan it." Chameleon replied with a slight smile. He stood, taking Ama's hand in his own. "Empyrean tradition aside, Ama, they're in love and want to be sealed. Why stand in the way of that?"

"Chameleon?" she murmured, looking at him sceptically.

The conman smiled, turning to the young couple. "Time with the one we love is a blessed gift that we often take advantage of as we're living it. Treasure it, each and every day."

"We plan to," Starbuck nodded, knowing the old conman was speaking from experience. While he had only heard parts of the story, he knew that his father's time with his mother had been all too brief.

Ama sighed tortuously. "I suppose I _could_ explain that Starbuck was near death, and put an incredibly romantic spin on it all. The romance of the yahren, upsets the _social event_ of the yahren."

"You're not far off on the _death_ angle, at least," Dayton added pointedly.

"Exactly." Boomer added, walking forward to the flight deck from where he was stowing some gear. "Everybody find a seat, we'll be taking off in three centons."

"Commander Dayton, this ceremony you'll be performing, is it sanctified?" Ama asked, as she sat down nearby, .

"Uh, well, actually . . ." Dayton murmured, pulling at his collar. Starbuck shot him a look that should have had him regaling her with reassurances, but he found he just couldn't lie to the Necromancer.

"Absolutely," Ryan leaned over his friend, not so affected. "Sanctified by the King—even if he's not personally in the building—and Blue Hawaii."

"Oh yeah," rasped Dayton, his throat suddenly dry.

"I see." Ama added dubiously. "I'm wondering, with all due respect to the King, if I might say a few words at the conclusion of your Earth ceremony?"

"By all means." Dayton nodded in relief. They might just be legally married when all this was done. And he wouldn't be explaining himself to Commander Adama, or anyone else, anytime soon. "I'm sure that would mean a lot to Luana and Starbuck." He glanced at the youngsters meaningfully. "Wouldn't it?"

Starbuck looked up at Lu, and then back to them, nodding. While the Necromancer hadn't come out and called their bluff, she obviously had a strong feeling that Dayton wasn't exactly qualified to marry them by Colonial standards. Still, their Earth friend saying a few words, and incorporating some Earth tradition to unite them in a bond that had been sanctified thousands of yahrens before by the holy Lords of Kobol, just seemed to add to the upcoming moment. While Luana didn't really care whether their union was approved and recognized by their society, truthfully he did. Maybe that's why his voice was choked with emotion when he replied, "Yeah, it would."

xxxxxxxxxx

"By-your-command,."

"Speak, Centurion." Lucifer responded by rote, turning to face the centurion from atop his pedestal. Or Baltar's old pedestal. The IL had tried it out repeatedly, trying to discover just what it was that the Human traitor had liked about sitting so high above them all, exactly as the Imperious Leader had. With their Cylon leader, it was a symbol of prestige and power. With Baltar, Lucifer had decided, it was more the illusion of superiority.

"A-signal-is-being-received."

"A signal?" asked Lucifer. "What kind?"

"Cylon."

"A Cylon signal?" Lucifer descended from the pedestal. "From the Empire?"

"No. It-is-from-the-quadrant-ahead."

"Ahead? Are-you-certain?"

"Confirmed." Lucifer leaned close, to examine the data.

"I do not recognize that code identification, Centurion."

"Computer-has-identified-it, sir. It-is-from-an-_Abaddon-_class-Base-Ship."

"_Abaddon_? Those were scrapped deca-yahrens ago."

"The-identity-code-matches-an-_Abaddon_-class-vessel-listed-as-missing-one-hundred- yahrens-ago. The-_Harrower."_ As the centurion spoke, the signal stopped.

"What happened?"

"The-signal-has-stopped." The centurion worked the controls, but there was nothing.

"Did you get a fix?"

"There-was-interference, but-the-signal-originated-somewhere-in-an-area-comprising-this-arc-of-space. Minimum-distance-approximately-four light-yahrens." On his screen, a wide swath of space was highlighted, consisting of over three thousand cubic light-yahrens of space.

"Continue trying to narrow it down, Centurion."

"By-your-command."

"And alter course. Begin moving into the highlighted region. Scanners at full sweep, point nine light-speed."

"By-your-command."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was almost surreal. Rather like a melodramatic old tearjerker, as they manipulated the hover-stretcher out of the Colonial shuttlecraft, and steered Starbuck towards the _Endeavour_, Luana alongside, holding his hand. Lia had done her best to clean up her sister, and it was amazing what a clean uniform and a radiant smile of happiness had done to improve her dishevelled appearance. Her long brown hair, was brushed out and blowing in the breeze, and she loosely held a bouquet of purple wildflowers in her free hand. Starbuck had settled for a clean flight jacket being draped over his shoulders, and a thorough dousing of his face and hair. It was the most casual sealing any of them had attended, but somehow it just felt appropriate, the usual nervousness and formality of such a moment replaced by a simple hope and joy. Paye and Cassie waved them ahead, smiling in amusement as Ryan started humming some old tune that Dayton informed Cassie was a traditional wedding march.

"Was it sanctified by your King?" asked Hummer, as Porter burst out laughing and Dayton pelted Ryan with a wildflower.

As they approached the ancient Earth vessel, circling around it, the other Earthlings joined in. Starbuck wondered aloud if anyone had remembered the ambrosa and ale, and the mood became even more festive . . . Until they tried to get the hover-stretcher aboard.

"It's not going to fit." Apollo pointed out the obvious. The hatch wasn't meant to carry stretchers through.

"Get me in there!" Starbuck whispered urgently to both Apollo and Boomer as he made to slip off the stretcher.

Apollo exchanged looks with Boomer, but Starbuck's arm was already snaking around his shoulder, and the captain instinctively stepped forward to support his weight as he slid forward. "Dr. Paye said . . . "

"What Dr. Paye doesn't know won't hurt me," Starbuck hissed, wincing as Boomer moved in on his other side. In a micron he was aboard, Luana shaking her head at him as Ryan and Dayton manipulated the hover-stretcher in behind them on its side.

"All aboard," Ryan announced as the Colonial Warriors once again loaded their friend on his stretcher. He remained sitting on the side, his legs dangling over the edge.

"Hang on to this thing, Buddy," Starbuck advised Apollo, patting the side of the stretcher, his other hand resting over his bandage. He blew out a breath, adjusting his position. "I don't want it launching during the ceremony."

Luana chuckled, leaning over to kiss the warrior. "If it does launch, you can bet I'll be shooting it down." She clasped hands with him and sat beside him, giggling. "There, now if you manage to flee, I'll be with you every kilometron of the way."

"Sounds good to me," he returned, plucking a single stemmed flower from her bouquet and tucking it behind her ear. It defied him, and fell into her lap. They laughed together, then he kissed her, backing off slightly. "You look beautiful."

"I take it we're defying Doctor's orders?" Chameleon asked with a frown.

"I can't get sealed without defying someone or something." Starbuck winked at Lu. "It wouldn't be natural."

"Isn't that the truth," quipped Boomer.

"Shh." Lu smiled, raising a finger to her lips, her eyes trained on the hatch.

Cassie stepped aboard, two more bunches of freshly picked wild flowers clutched in her hands. She eyed Starbuck dubiously, arching an eyebrow, but held her tongue as she handed a bouquet to Lia, then scattered the remaining flowers with a wild abandon that suited the occasion.

"It needed a little something." Cassie smiled at the couple, then squeezed Dayton's hand briefly before he moved to join the nearly-weds.

"Sure did," chirped Ryan. "_Early NASA_ just doesn't cut it."

"It's been a while, folks, so bear with me." Dayton murmured, looking a little uncomfortable as everyone found a place to stand. "Uh . . . maybe this is a stupid question, but what about rings?"

"Rings?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head in bemusement, and glancing at Apollo.

Dayton encircled his ring finger on his left hand with a finger. His own wedding ring was long gone, taken from him by one of Torg's underlings while his belly was on fire from the pain of the Obediator. "You don't wear rings when you get married . . . er, sealed?"

"No. Why would we?" Apollo asked, standing beside the stretcher on the other side.

"As a symbol of your commitment?" Dayton suggested.

"And to clearly let everyone else know that you're both off limits from this point forward." Ryan added with a grin.

Luana smiled, glancing mischievously at her man. "Hmm. Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

"Oh, I think word will get around. Not to worry." Starbuck returned with a weak grin.

"Traditionally, our people have done a hand-fasting ceremony, Mark-Dayton. Though I believe that some cultures do wear sealing bands. It's not common though." Ama told him. She fingered her Empyrean Talisman, secured around her neck with a cord. "I'll take care of that part."

Dayton nodded. "Then let's begin."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Commander," said Rigel. "The shuttle is entering the planet's atmosphere, Sir."

Adama nodded, "Thank you." His eyes reflexively ran over the scanners. Though the electro-identification beacon from the _Abaddon_ Base Ship had been disabled by the IL, according to reports by both Sheba and Dorado, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

"Also, an update on the comet, sir." She put it up on a monitor.

"ETA?"

"That's just it, sir. Its trajectory and speed have been altered by the gravity of the last planet it passed by. We've gained a little time."

"How much?" asked Colonel Tigh.

"Approximately. . .forty-four centons, sir."

"Commander!" said Athena. "A message from our long-range patrol."

"Yes?"

"Unidentified contact at extreme range. Fuel low, returning to _Galactica_."

xxxxxxxxxx

"By-your-command," said Centurion Moray.

"Yes?" Lucifer, just entering the Control Centre of the Base Ship.

"Our-patrol-has-reported-a-contact. At-extreme-range."

"Identity?"

"Unknown."

"I see," replied the IL. Lucifer mulled this information for a few milli-centons, then made a decision. "Is our patrol aboard, Centurion?"

"It-will-land-in-twenty-centons."

"Once it is aboard, lay in a course for the position of the new contact. Flank speed."

"By-your-command."

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton took a deep breath, searching for the words. It really had been a long time. "Dearly beloved . . .we are gathered here in the presence of God . . ." He paused as Ama raised an eyebrow. " . . .the Goddess Triquetra . . ." Ama nodded at him, her approval clear. ". . . and these witnesses, to join Starbuck and Luana in holy matrimony."

Starbuck lightly brushed his lips over Luana's fingers, smiling as she grinned in complete happiness back at him. Somehow he had thought she would be breaking into tears. Instead, she looked as though she would spontaneously burst in gales of laughter. It was infectious. He grinned inanely back at her. Then he glanced back at Dayton who had paused, seemingly at a sudden loss for words.

"Uh . . ." Dayton glanced a little desperately at Ryan who moved forward and whispered in his ear. The Earth commander nodded his thanks, his features relaxing. Then he smiled and continued. "When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you . . . all the way." He smiled as his friends nodded their approval. Porter started humming softly. Dayton cleared his throat, now singing, hoping old Blue Eyes wasn't turning over in his grave. "Happy to be near you, when you need someone to cheer you . . . all the way." Ryan, Porter and even Dickins joined in. His own personal Rat Pack. All he needed was a casino, a drink, and some seriously over-tailored suits. "Taller than the tallest tree is, that's how it's got to feel. Deeper than the deep blue sea is, that's how deep it goes if it's real."

The Earthmen had reverted to their native tongue, so Starbuck didn't understand many of the words to the song, but the harmony of their voices along with the melody conveyed the sentiment. It brought a sudden and unexpected moisture to his eyes. Just being there amongst his closest friends and his family—Chameleon, Apollo, Boomer, Ama, Lia, Cassiopeia, Ryan, Porter, and Dickins—with all of them doing their best to try and throw together an Earth-style ceremony, just for the sentimental value and fun of it, suddenly overwhelmed him. Even though Hummer and Dr. Paye lurked in the background, they were clearly enjoying the moment as well. Starbuck could feel his throat tightening, and an uncomfortable pressure in his chest. Lu looked so beautiful and radiant in her joy. She was having a great time. It was hard to believe that he had thought this moment might never happen. He had once figured that he couldn't even approach thinking about getting sealed until they found Earth. However, finding the right person, had an ironic way of changing a guy's mind. He let out a raspy breath, blinking, and trying to keep his emotions in check. It was a losing battle. Lu smiled at him lovingly, raising a soft and gentle hand to wipe away his errant tear.

"When somebody needs you, it's no good unless he needs you . . .all the way. Through the good or lean years, and for all the in-between years, come what may. Who knows where the road will lead you, only a fool would say. But if you'll let him love you, it's for sure he's gonna love you, all the way. All . . . the . . . way."

Dayton smiled at the young couple before him, before continuing. "Starbuck, do you take Luana to be your wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?"

Starbuck blew out a breath, and chuckled. "You mean we get to talk?"

The group broke out in quiet laughter.

"Yes, but this may be your last opportunity to be heard." Dayton quipped, winking at Luana. He looked back to the young man. "How about it, kid?"

Starbuck nodded, kissing Luana's fingertips once again before replying, "You bet."

Dayton smirked. Not the usual response, but in this case, entirely appropriate to the groom. "Luana, do you take Starbuck to be your wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?"

"By all the Lords, I do." She grinned, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Well then, by the power invested in me by Earth fables, folklore and fiction, and the fact that you forced me into it. . ." Starbuck and Luana laughed. "I hereby declare you man and wife." Dayton paused, nodding at the groom. "You may kiss the bride."

"I just know I'm gonna love Earth," Starbuck grinned as he leaned forward, gently caressing Luana's cheek before he kissed her.

Then the group erupted into well wishes, pats on the backs and hugs from all involved. Within a couple centons, Starbuck was once again being helped through the hatch as those assembled moved outside at the Necromancer's request. A spattering of something landed on him, and he looked for the source. For some reason, Porter was throwing tiny seeds, pulled from one of the tall grasses, at the couple. Starbuck shook his head in bemusement, then suddenly felt dizzy just before his astrum hit the stretcher once again. Altitude adjustment. Luckily, it settled in a micron. Paye scowled at the warrior, and Cassie simply rolled her eyes knowingly.

Apollo paused as Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth, lying down slowly and gingerly. There was no mistaking his sudden pallor. "You're looking sore, Bucko. Do you want me to get Cassie?" the captain asked in concern.

Starbuck shook his head, his breathing audible as he tried to relax. "No. I can just hear the guys in the billet when they find out I was getting sealed while under the influence of narcotics." He smiled slightly. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?" Boomer asked, gripping his arm and looking him in the eye.

"Hopefully, it'll be short and sweet." Starbuck returned as he settled himself, then smiled wryly. "And I'm not talking about the marriage."

"You'd better not be," Luana growled. "Are you ready for this?"

While Dayton's ceremony was more symbolic, this one was for keeps. Which was exactly why Ama had stepped in. While she would rather they had waited for the Imperial Wedding, with every last Empyrean tradition observed to the very letter, she wasn't going to tolerate them becoming man and wife unless it was sanctified by a holy rite recognized by their people.

"I'm ready." Starbuck nodded, shifting himself into a sitting position. He bit his lip as a sharp pain stabbed him in the gut, and a wave of nausea washed over him . . .but the Necromancer often had that effect on him. Ama joined them, turning around to address the others as she drew near.

"Form a circle around Luana and Starbuck, all of you." Ama told them, waiting patiently for the others to do so. A warm breeze blew through her hair and she ran her fingers through it, closing her eyes and smiling up at the sun as it seemed to shine a little brighter and warmer upon them. "Triquetra, give us the holy honour of your presence at this most sacred of rituals."

A rumble came from the heavens itself, and the small party gasped in wonder. Then a Colonial shuttle and two Vipers broke through the cloud cover in the distance. Quiet laughter broke out.

"It's the flight crew and escort. The _Galactica_ must be in orbit." Apollo watched the craft draw nearer.

"I almost had you there," Ama grinned at them, winking at her goddaughters. Then she stepped forward and took Luana's hand. "Daughter." She leaned forward tenderly kissing the young woman on one cheek, then embraced her lightly, touching their foreheads together. She reluctantly released the young woman, and then moved to the stretcher, taking Starbuck's hand this time. "Son of my heart." She smiled as he considered her uncertainly. "What is it, Starbuck?"

"I didn't think to ask, is this a ritual requiring my blood?" He'd had enough experiences with the Necromancer stabbing him for various reasons, all of them highly suspect.

Ama smiled. "I believe you've shed enough for one day." Then she leaned forward, reaching behind his head, and pulling him forward until their foreheads met. She stood thus for a long moment, before abruptly pulling back and considering him again.

"What?" he asked, feeling the strange tingling sensation that had pleasantly enveloped him, erasing his pain, start to dissipate.

"I don't think so." She murmured, but cast her gaze upwards once again.

"Ama?" Luana asked.

The Necromancer turned back towards them, lifting her Empyrean Talisman, and removing its cord from around her neck. Again she took their hands, and placed Luana's in Starbuck's.

She paused for a moment, before loosely entwining hands and cord. The Talisman itself she tucked into their combined grip, her own hand resting atop theirs. "Luana and Starbuck, on this most cherished of days, in the presence of Triquetra, I declare you sealed. May the light of the Lords of Kobol bless your union from now until eternity."

Starbuck leaned forward to tenderly brush his lips against Lu's. His felt oddly numb. "I love you," he breathed.

Luana smiled, feeling Ama pulling the amulet and cord free, but the warmth and slight pressure from the tether seemed to linger. "I love you too."

Ama then glanced at the physician. "You'd better do a scan, Dr. Paye. I believe Starbuck's in trouble. Medically, that is." Then she looked skyward once again, "Sorry, but you can't have him. He's spoken for."

It seemed for a moment as if the sky rumbled again, only this time, it couldn't be attributed to Vipers.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Frack! Get me a line! Now!" Paye sneered at the biomonitor and shook his head at his patient. Starbuck was lying flat on the hover-stretcher, his eyes wide, and his breathing getting faster and shallower in response to his growing pain, anxiety and plummeting blood pressure. Luana gripped his hand, looking fearfully onward. Chameleon and Ama hovered behind her.

"I left it in." Cassiopeia reassured the physician as she pulled an intravenous line from her med kit. "I only have to access it." She started to program the pump.

"What do we have in the way of blood products left?" Paye asked, as he peered into his medical scanner while leaning over the warrior.

"We're getting low." Cassie informed him, dividing her attention between looking through her supplies, and attaching the line to Starbuck's access, and starting a bolus. She frowned as she looked through the kit again. "We might have to go synthetic."

"Damn. How low?"

"We're out of blood, and have a couple units of volume expander, as well as some plasma left." She swore softly. "That's it."

"What's happening?" Luana asked, looking fearfully between the two health care providers. Chameleon squeezed her shoulder.

Paye pressed on Starbuck's abdomen, his hands physically finding what his biomonitor had already confirmed. It was as taut as a tambour. "He's hemorrhaging."

Starbuck gasped, writhing with the sudden and intense pain. He reflexively pushed the physician's hands away. "Take it easy . . ."

"Start a second line and use the synthetic!" Paye ignored his patient's protests. "I'm going to have to operate." Paye sat back on his haunches looking around between the _Endeavour_ and both Colonial shuttles, fifty metrons in either direction from them. Jenny's crew was heading towards them to begin work on the Earth ship. Paye shook his head again. It was obvious he didn't like it one bit.

"Can't it wait until we get him to the _Galactica_?" Apollo asked, suspecting Starbuck's chances would be better in the Life Station. "She's in orbit. We could have him there in fifteen or twenty centons."

"He'll be _dead _in twenty centons if I don't stop the bleeding." Paye replied gruffly. "And I sure as Hades can't do surgery in the back of a moving shuttle." He wiped an arm across his forehead. "Earth _or_ Colonial."

Apollo nodded, pointing to the shuttle that had transported them to the clearing. "That one." There would be too much activity already going on in the _Endeavour_, as the supplies they needed to repair her were in the newly arrived ship.

"I'm the same blood type as Starbuck," Chameleon reminded them.

Paye glanced up at the old man, then to Cassiopeia. "It could offset the side effects of the synthetic product."

Cassie nodded. "I know, but I need to prep Starbuck. We might not have time."

"I can help." Ryan moved forward. He'd once done abdominal surgery on the son to remove his Obediator; surely he could manage to take some blood from the father. It would be comparatively simple. "Give me the gear, and I can take Chameleon's blood."

"Are you qualified?" Paye asked, and then shook his head, realizing it was the best offer he had had all day. "Never mind." He dug through the med kit, thrusting equipment into the Earthman's hands. "On the shuttle. Now!" He slapped a hand on Ryan's shoulder, propelling him forward.

"C'mon, Chameleon!" Ryan grabbed the conman, pulling him reluctantly away from his son. "Gonna bleed ya!"

"Can we do something to help?" Luana asked, realizing there simply wasn't enough medical personnel to do everything."

Starbuck held his breath, closing his eyes against the wave of pain that swept over him once again. He groaned, clutching his left side, and doing the best he could to curl up into a ball of misery. Then his head began to swim. Frantically, he sucked in some breaths between clenched teeth.

"Can you give him something for the pain?" Luana begged Cassie. She brushed Starbuck's hair back from his eyes, caressing his face, keeping in constant contact with him. Cassiopeia nodded, activating the hypospray against his skin. A tremor ran through him, but his breathing slowed marginally, and his tense form relaxed ever so slightly. "Shh, I'm with you," she murmured into his ear. "Stay with me."

"Captain! Lieutenant! Get this stretcher aboard the shuttle. Now!" Paye ordered the warriors. "Luana, have Apollo and Boomer help you get Starbuck stripped. Cassie, you prep him, and get him hooked up to the monitors. Let's move, people!"

xxxxxxxxxx

_Oh my dear God!_

Sheba closed her eyes and clenched her fists until her nails dug into her flesh.

"Captain?"

She steeled herself against the sight before her, reluctantly opening her eyes. Why hadn't she thought about this? After all the careful planning and work done so far to repair the jagged tear in the _Pegasus_ that had opened her up to the vacuum of space, and then finally being able to unseal several compartments that no one had seen for sectars, Sheba hadn't thought about the bodies that could potentially still be there.

Dead men and women that hadn't been sucked out into space—their skin tinged blue, eyes and mouths forever open in shock, preserved by the frigid cold—were now lying side by side on the deck, in what had once been the Life Station. She looked down at one corpse, which she recognized as the one-time Flight Sergeant Unas. He had been from Gemon, and a member of the Otori Sect. Aside from their somewhat odd sexual taboos, they also had their own attitudes about the dead. Those who died were, if at all possible, embalmed. Their bodies were kept until the time of the septennial Sun Storm. With the invocation of the priests, the remains of the departed were consigned to the flames—lit by huge crystals that focused the sunlight onto the pyres—just as the conjugal relations of the living were sanctified. The philosophy was that even as death was mourned, life was celebrated. Some Otori even believed that the souls released by the flames would be reincarnated in the children conceived upon that day. However, such rituals weren't really conducive to life—or more specifically, death—on a Battlestar. Unas had known that, and had understood.

"How many?" Sheba's voice was brittle, her breath foggy in the still-frigid air. With the systems stretched, it would be a while before the environment in here was comfortable.

"Twenty-six. There were seventy-five recorded missing." Roz informed her. "The others obviously were . . ." She waved a hand toward the newly installed hull plates, then clenched her teeth tightly together, shaking her head before she could continue. "We found Dr. Eco. I have a complete list of the dead, those accounted for, and those lost in combat." Her tone was flat as she handed Sheba a data pad.

"We've notified the families already," Sheba remarked. It had been one of her many duties when she had assumed command. These people had been deceased for more than two sectars now. Nobody had really expected that they would suddenly exhume twenty-six bodies, least of all her.

"Still, someone might want to say a final goodbye . . ." Roz added, crossing her arms.

"Roz, the morgue was one of the compartments destroyed. These people are going to start thawing out soon, and somehow I don't think that Sergeant Gerussi will be happy with me if I ask him to store some bodies, for the purpose of viewing by family members, in the Mess' cold storage." She needed an alternate plan.

Roz considered that. "Sort of puts you off your primaries, doesn't it?" She grimaced, shifting her gaze. "Well, using the crematorium is out of the question."

Traditionally, the Battlestar had the facility for disposing of their dead while on extended tours, for reasons twofold. First, they didn't want to take the chance that even one of their dead ejected into space could give away strategic positions to the Cylons, and secondly, they didn't want to give the enemy the opportunity to defile their fallen heroes, the mere thought being abhorrent. As of late, Human remains were now being processed and sterilized before being sent to the Agro Ship as part of the constant need to reuse and replenish resources. Families with moral or religious objections were able to refuse, but most of the people of the Fleet were agreeable to the idea of their loved ones making a final important contribution, not only to the Colonial Nation, but more specifically with the continued good health of their descendants in mind.

"Oh?" Sheba asked. While cremation would be a quick fix, it wasn't preferable. If something happened to her father, wouldn't she want one more chance to touch his hand? To say goodbye? Once again, the regulation manual didn't reflect the fact that a Fleet of civilians was attached to them.

"The solar power cells were also destroyed during the attack, so not only do we not have a place to store the bodies for now, we also can't just cremate them. At least here on the _Pegasus_."

"I don't want a shuttle transporting the dead to Colonial Kybos with a possible Cylon threat arriving. I can't spare the manpower, and I'm not going to sacrifice the living for the dead for the sake of esthetics." Sheba mused. "We need a short-term solution."

"Colonial Kybos?" Roz frowned.

"Well, the _Aether_ is the actual name of the ship they converted for the use of organic reclamation shortly after the Destruction. Of course, back then it was mainly for waste recycling. A lot of these ships weren't intended for civilian use, and portable turbo flushes need to be emptied and processed." Sheba smiled wryly. "Let's just say that that her crew renamed her. Unofficially, of course."

Roz wrinkled her nose. "Doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure that one out . . ."

"For now, do what you need to in order to keep them cold until we can transport them. Cryo-tubes would work. Are there any salvageable?"

"I'll have to check. They're usually only used during some kind of outbreak. I don't even know where they're stored." Roz returned. "Med tech Zeb should know."

Sheba nodded. "Double them up if necessary."

"Aye, Captain."

"I'll be on the Bridge."

xxxxxxxxxx

"How are we doing, Bob?" Dietra asked, standing just behind him and looking up at the immense screen above her in the Cylon Base. She had grown to know the Earthman well due to her budding relationship with Ryan, and it was nice to be able to drop the formalities, even for a few moments. Especially considering the news she was about to give him.

"Good, Dee." Baker replied, nodding slightly, his eyes not leaving the screen. "I think I can handle it when we're ready. Did we establish communications with the _Endeavour_ and _Galactica_?"

"We did. Both." She paused. "Starbuck collapsed, Bob. Dr. Paye decided to operate then and there." She squeezed the Earthman's shoulder slightly, as his head whipped around in concern. They all had a soft spot for the Colonial Warrior that they credited for saving them from a lifetime of servitude under the pirates. "Dayton said it will be a while before we hear anything."

"Did they at least get married. . .uh, sealed? Whatever?" Baker asked quietly.

"They did."

"Who caught the bouquet?" he smiled slightly.

"Sorry?" she asked, brows furrowing. Like the rest, just when she thought she had his odd language figured out . . .

"Nowhere mind." he shrugged, pausing for a moment, his hands still as they hovered over the keyboard.

Dietra glanced again at the screen. "What do you have there?"

Baker sighed, then nodded, getting back to business. "It's some kind of recon satellite system. I'm just trying to activate it."

"The Dynamos also act as satellites. What kind?"

"From what I'm reading here, much like your scanners in your ships," Baker replied, his fingers flying across the keys. "Detailed imagery of the surface, in a variety of wavelengths. Ah . . . here we go."

The screen suddenly filled with imagery of the area surrounding the base. Dietra gasped as she looked at the incredible resolution, so far advanced beyond anything she had seen before.

"Wow . . ." Baker murmured, zooming in on the shuttle in the clearing. He could clearly see Greenbean walking through the field, running a hand through the long grasses that looked like wheat. Then Baker's hand paused over a small ball, his fingers caressing it slightly, and the picture shifted drastically. Moments later they were looking at the _Endeavour_. Dayton was on her nose, apparently helping insert the new windscreens. They could even make out the texture of the ship's skin. "Google, eat your heart out!"

"I've never seen such detail." Dietra commented, as Baker zoomed in on Ryan for her benefit. "It's almost like we're there." She pulled up a chair, joining him. "Can you find the _Galactica_?"

"Coordinates?" He asked.

She supplied them, and within microns they were looking at the Battlestar in orbit above the planet. She shook her head again at the detail. She could swear she could see figures in the lighted ports, or shadows of people moving around on the Bridge through the huge port. "This is amazing. What else?"

"The Fleet." Baker replied, once again inputting Dietra's coordinates. In microns, they were picking out the ships in the Fleet, shaking their heads in wonder when Dietra read out "Colonial Movers" and their logo from the display. "I guess they really _did_ end up moving anywhere," he chuckled.

"Baker . . . Commander Adama said that a Viper patrol scanned something . . . unidentified."

"Where?"

"Quadrant theta . . ." she murmured, her chest tightening as she held her breath and sat forward. If this system had the range she was beginning to suspect . . .

"Bogies at six o'clock." he muttered, as the Raiders—almost identical to the one the _Endeavour_ had tangled with—came into view. Six of them, and really hauling ass. "Now, where's your Mama?"

"Frack!" Dietra muttered, as the Hades-class Base Ship came into view. "Are there more than one?"

Baker continued to search, finally shaking his head. "Just the one."

She glanced down at the coordinates, then slapped Baker on the shoulder as she stood up. "Good work, Bob." Then she pivoted sharply on her heel, barking towards the comm, "Get me the _Galactica_!"

xxxxxxxxxx

"What's your status, Captain?"

The _Galactica_'s patrol had detected unidentified contacts in star quadrant theta, mark six, headed towards this solar system at high speed. Although they were yet too far away for detailed identification, after the debacle of the Cylon Electro-Identification Beacon, all concerned guessed they were Cylon. The Fleet would likely be detected long before the _Galactica_, since the Battlestar was now positioned in orbit on the far side of Planet 'P', which was herself soon to go 'behind' the sun from the Fleet's vantage point.

"Commander, Malus has communications, navigation, weaponry and main electrical power back up to sixty-five percent," Dorado informed the commander over the comm. "Scanners are proving to be a tougher though. The system seems to have taken some serious pounding when the Base Ship was knocked out originally."

"Understood, Captain."

"Sir. . .I was thinking . . ." Dorado took a breath, and continued. "We could leave the Fleet and act as a decoy while the _Galactica_ circled around. I mean, we can't make more than about forty percent light-speed, but we have about fifty laser turrets and an older model mega-pulsar that are reading as functional. I'm going to run live-fire tests, just to be certain, sir. The pulsar doesn't have the range of the _Hades-_class ships, but if we surprise them, it won't be about range, Commander. A variation on what the _Pegasus_ did at Gamoray, sir."

Adama nodded, mulling over the suggestion. He would have to risk leaving the landing party to escape by shuttles, and rendezvous with them later. And of course, none of them had any idea what the mysterious Dynamos would do next. However, the Fleet had to come first, and he could think of no other viable options, given the time constraints. "Do you have a functional landing bay, Captain Dorado?"

"Aye, sir." Dorado replied, then he grinned. "We could have one squadron standing by in the bay, and leave the other with the Fleet! If Malus contacted them, they wouldn't expect . . ."

"Exactly." Adama smiled at the young man's quick thinking. "Like a crawlon's web, Captain Dorado. Notify Captain Sheba."

"Consider it done, Commander."  
"Commander!" said Athena from her station. He looked down at her. "Lieutenant Dietra reporting in from the Base on Planet 'P'. Their scanner has picked up a Cylon Base Star!"

"Their scanners?" Adama asked, his brow furrowing. "Go ahead, Lieutenant . . ."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was a pain filled blur. One moment he was getting sealed, and the next the slight, but constantly increasing discomfort he had been feeling—not unusual for a guy who had been shot, he had told himself—had climaxed to an unbearable level something akin to your insides being wrung out, then ripped free, and finally reinserted centimetron by centrimetron . . . with a core drill.

He was vaguely aware of Luana the whole time, her face near his, her voice murmuring reassurances, her constant presence . . . but also of her fear-filled brown eyes that no matter how hard she tried to hide it, he could still see the terror within them. Then they stuck a life mask on him, which was never a good sign. He pulled his knees up towards his chest as pain wracked his abdomen and left flank, and nausea enveloped him. All he really wanted to do was curl up in a ball on his right side, but insistent hands kept forcing him onto his back, pressing constantly where it hurt the most.

"This is no time for modesty, buddy."

A couple gentle taps on his cheek to get his attention, then he saw Apollo leaning close, also looking worried, his forehead crinkling slightly. An abrupt diminishing of Starbuck's pain made him realize he'd be dosed again with some narcotics. He licked dry lips, trying to focus on his friend. Boomer was there too.

"We need to get you undressed for surgery." The captain explained, his voice calm, but the urgency clear as the activity around them increased.

Starbuck nodded, trying to relax as Cassie simultaneously started attaching monitors to him as the others removed what was left of his clothes. A bioblanket was pulled over him discreetly, then Paye was leaning over him with a biomonitor in hand, peering at the data instead of the patient. He lowered the medical scanner and looked directly into Starbuck's eyes.

"Lieutenant, we're going to operate. It looks like we'll have to remove your spleen. It's ruptured where I repaired it. Do you have any questions?"

His mind went blank. Starbuck looked over to the side to see Chameleon seated nearby, watching anxiously. Ama was with him. She looked as though she was praying. That more than anything else terrified him. "Am I . . ." His voice was hoarse, and he cleared it as he looked back at the physician. "Am I. . . going to make it?"

"Don't even think . . ." Luana replied urgently, shaking her head and stroking his face, unable to finish her words.

Paye's intense and serious features softened. He nodded. "Of course you are." Then he looked away. "We're going to put him under now."

Starbuck clenched his fists and sucked in a breath, wondering if he would ever wake up again. It just didn't seem real somehow. However, by the looks of those all around him, it was reality at its harshest. His number might very well be up . . . and he didn't have time to win a better draw in a game of pyramid.

Then his father was before him, grabbing his hand, and whispering to him, "I love you, son. I love you . . ."

He tried to reply, to deflect the name that was surely going to leave the conman's lips, but blissful anaesthesia pulled him too quickly into its embrace.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Beeps, voices, and the sensation of someone stroking his hair . . . and more beeps. Starbuck opened his eyes, wishing he hadn't, as a wave of severe nausea assaulted him. He groaned as his stomach heaved, and his own violent dry heaving, and the resulting pain, obliterated all else.

"Take slow, deep breaths. In and out." Cassie encouraged him, breathing in exaggeration to demonstrate the technique that he wasn't exactly known for mastering.

He groaned again, just to let her know what he thought of that idea. His stomach rolled and pitched, and he couldn't get the image out of his head of being in an out-of-control Viper, tumbling endlessly, end over end. It was straight out of his nightmares from his early cadet days. "Lords . . ." To make matters worse, everything from his chest down to his hips, including his back, was burning with each contraction of his guts, and there was something stuck up his nose. He moved his hand towards his face, and a hand abruptly grasped his wrist.

"Leave it. It'll help the nausea." Cassie told him softly, but insistently, not about to let him start ripping out his naso-gastric drainage tube. "Open your eyes, Starbuck."

He hadn't realized they were still closed. Suddenly, the image of being tossed around was replaced by the most beautiful pair of brown eyes smiling tentatively down at him, at least around the edges of his life mask. "Lu . . ." he rasped, as her fingers curled around his offending hand, and Cassiopeia released him.

"You're doing fine . . . sunshine," she smiled, her relief unmistakeable.

Starbuck moaned, shaking his head at the obvious reference. "He told you . . ." he whined. The name. What had his parents been thinking? His stomach pitched again, no doubt in empathy. "Ohhhh . . . "

"I think it's sweet." Luana grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief, as she looked over at Chameleon. "_Solarus_. The ancient Kobolian sun god." She chuckled at Starbuck's look of dismay.

"Prince Solarus of the Empyrean Imperial Family," Ama inserted with a wry grin, chuckling when he started heaving again. "Is it really that bad?"

"First a Colonial Warrior, and now a Prince. And all of it on the level." Chameleon murmured, his voice thick with emotion, despite his teasing words. "You're doing alright, son, considering your humble beginnings in Umbra."

They were clearly trying to distract him. To take his mind off the constant nausea that made his mouth water uncomfortably. His stomach contracted again, and he shuddered as the retching continued. He broke out into a sweat, feeling his entire body heating up with the efforts of evacuating everything he had eaten since birth . . . or so it seemed. Lords, he felt as weak as a baby felix.

"Can't you give him something?" Luana asked.

"I already have. We have a continuous infusion running to try and counteract the nausea, which is a normal side affect of the synthetic blood we had to give him. It might only last a couple centars, a couple days at the most." Cassie explained. "It's one of the situations where the treatment probably seems worse than the malady, but with the amount of blood he lost, it was crucial to use it."

"Probably seems worse?" Starbuck gasped, as Luana wiped a cool cloth over his face. "Two days?"

"There is good news," Cassie inserted.

"Let's hear it," Starbuck returned, but he locked his gaze on hers, anxious to hear what exactly they had done to him, and how it would effect his future. A bandage was wrapped tightly around him, faint traces of his blood telling the tale that the med tech hadn't as of yet. Lords, he'd been carved up like a Solstice avian by the look and feel of it. Thank the Lords that later regeneration treatments would erase almost all traces of the surgical incisions.

"Dr. Paye managed to salvage part of your spleen, Starbuck," the med tech informed him, looking more than a little impressed. "You're going to be on strict bedrest for a couple days, but your recovery as well as your future health looks more promising, if you follow Doctor's orders." Her expression shifted to one of warning, and her tone of voice became deadly serious. "To the letter, Lieutenant."

Yeah, his impulsive leap off the hover-stretcher, forcing Apollo and Boomer to help him into the _Endeavour_, hadn't been the smartest decision in retrospect. But hey, he was married, and still alive, and would soon be back onboard the _Galactica_ and planning the party of the yahren to celebrate both minor miracles.

_No regrets, Bucko_ . . . Well, it was good in theory, anyhow.

"I'm planning to keep a close eye on him, Cassiopeia," Luana told them both.

"Well, someone better. I swear everything I tell him goes in one ear, and out the other." Cassie shook her head.

"That at least hasn't changed," smiled Chameleon. "I could tell you stories. In fact, when he was just over a yahren old, there was this daggit that wandered by . . ."

"So . . .how are the . . . uh, repairs coming on the _Endeavour_?" Starbuck changed topics, beginning to feel outnumbered. "How long have I been out?"

"Just over a centar." Cassiopeia replied, suppressing a giggle, and smiling up at Chameleon.

"They have the windshields replaced, and repairs are underway where she was hit," Luana told him. "Dayton and Ryan were just here checking on you, and gave us an update."

"And the wormhole?" Getting Dickins and Hummer through the wormhole could potentially save Earth from the Cylons. If they failed at that before the comet struck . . .

"Baker not only will be ready to open that wormhole when the time comes, but he discovered that the Dynamos also act as a recon satellite system. They spotted a Cylon Base Ship bearing down on this quadrant. Hades-class. The _Galactica_'s patrol probably detected one of their patrols, but had to turn around before they could confirm the data because their fuel was low."

"Frack . . .Cylons. " Starbuck yawned, running a hand over his face, and fighting against heavy eyelids that wanted to close. Cassie had just dosed him again, and this time it was hitting him hard. But the first attack by Cylons in over a yahren was something a Colonial Warrior was trained to stay awake for. Despite that, he felt his head bob down to his chest, and startled himself awake. "When . . .when are we taking off?"

"We don't know." Luana returned quietly. She watched him for a moment, threading her fingers through his.

"What?" Starbuck asked. She was holding back.

"The _Galactica_ is gone, Starbuck. She went to rendezvous with the Abaddon Base Ship. Together they're going to take on that Base Star."

"The Abaddon?" Starbuck repeated, shaking his head in growing horror. "Greenbean said that thing is a derelict. Her hull is ripped six ways from Worship Day. A piece of felgercarb."

"Apparently, Malus had some success getting her systems back on-line. She'll make a fine decoy." Luana returned, her gaze moving towards the hatch as Apollo boarded.

It made sense, as long as Malus came through for them. If he didn't . . . Lords, Starbuck didn't even want to think about that possibility. It made his stomach turn again. "But that only leaves the _Pegasus_ to defend the Fleet! She's no more battle worthy than that old Abaddon, from what I've heard."

Apollo nodded solemnly. "The _Pegasus_ and a squadron of fighters."

"Who's in command?" Starbuck asked, remembering Cain had had surgery. "Colonel Tigh?"

"Sheba." Apollo replied quietly, everybody's eyes falling on him momentarily. "She's a whirlwind, getting the old girl back up to spec, Starbuck."

"Am I missing something?" Starbuck asked, as they all averted their gazes from the captain. Damn right he was missing something. Apollo looked . . . off. He had that 'martyr' look about him. The one he had learned from the long list of military men that he had come from. Something was biting his astrum, but being Apollo, he wouldn't let it get to him, or interfere with his duty.

Apollo crossed to the hover-stretcher, squeezing his friend's arm. "If everything goes to plan, that Base Ship will never get near the Fleet."

"Yeah? Does that mean it's coming our way instead?" He coughed, wincing at the pain. "Well, I hate to be the voice of doom, but nothing has gone to plan since Lu and I entered this planet's orbit." Strangely, Apollo had no comeback for that. He was definitely out of sorts. I wonder . . . "How did Sheba—a lowly lieutenant—end up in command of the _Pegasus_ anyhow?"

Apollo paused for a moment, and then met his friend's eyes. "That's Strike Captain Sheba, now."

"Strike Captain?" Starbuck muttered, realizing the possible ramifications of that on a personal relationship. "Sorry, buddy . . ."

"Don't be . . . Prince Solarus." Apollo replied with a sudden smirk as Starbuck grimaced. "It's a good career move for Sheba. We'll work it out."

Starbuck nodded. He almost believed it. More importantly, Apollo was committed to the idea. "But what about the comet?" The last he had heard, they were all supposed to be on a shuttle out of here to rendezvous with their Battlestar. While he didn't mind putting himself at risk, Ama, Chameleon and the Earthmen were civilians. Then it hit him. "Ahh! You couldn't leave because . . . I was having surgery." His stomach lurched again. "Frack!"

Apollo squeezed his arm again. "Don't worry, Bucko. We'll still have plenty of time. But it'll probably mean launching the shuttles and Vipers after we get the _Endeavour_ through that wormhole, and rendezvousing with the Fleet later." His gaze fell on Dayton and Ryan as they came through the hatch.

"Hey! The Prince is awake!" Ryan grinned. "Sol! How ya feeling, kid?"

Yeah, this was probably as bad as it was ever going to get. Starbuck couldn't help but crack a grin as he shook his head at Chameleon. The old conman was clearly enjoying himself.

"Sunny Boy, you look like you could use some rest," Dayton smiled, crossing to grip the younger man's hand. "Your luminosity is lulling, oh Shining One."

On cue, Starbuck yawned again, shaking his head and then looking at Cassie accusingly. Sure enough, she had just put something in his med line. "Hey . . ."

"You need rest. One way or the other, I'm not going to have you jumping off stretchers again."

"We'll even sing you a lullaby." Ryan threw an arm around Dayton. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey . . ."

Dayton laughed, finding it particularly amusing, before he joined in. "You'll never know, Sol, how much we love you, please don't take our sunshine away . . ."

It was no lullaby. Not by a long shot. All the same, Starbuck couldn't keep his eyes open. As he felt himself drifting off to sleep, the singing growing further and further away, he heard Ama's gruff voice whisper, "Good night, sweet prince."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Are you ready yet?" Malus asked the Colonial Warriors in the Abaddon's Control Centre.

The Hades-class Base Ship was in communications range, and had been hailing them. However, they weren't quite prepared to make contact, still being out of firing range. A loud clang reinforced their ill-preparedness, as the Cylon armour that they were using to not only disguise the warriors, but to give some impression of normalcy on a scarred and battered ship that had been unaccounted for, slipped from Brie's slender form, hitting the deck. The echo made them all cringe.

"Sorry." Brie muttered as Dorado hastily bent down and lifted the armour back into place, helping her into it.

"It's not quite your size. We could weld it in place," Bojay suggested with a chuckle as he assisted.

"Don't even think about it." Brie returned with a toss of her hair, before pulling the gutted helmet on.

"Okay, Malus. We're ready." Dorado told the IL, pulling his own helmet on. In the most functional landing bay aboard, Red Squadron was standing by to launch on his order. The Fleet was tucked away from scanner detection, sheltered by Planet P's largest moon. The _Galactica_ should be getting into position. The advancing Base Star was finally in weapons range. "Open a line."

xxxxxxxxxx

They were words that could either strike fear or inspiration into a man's heart: "I have an idea."

Apollo sat down in the pilot's seat, opposite Dayton, aboard the _Endeavour_. "Go on."

"The way I understand it is, Bobble Brain is going to engage the incoming Cylon Base Ship. Then he's going to try to convince them he's harmless. Then, when the _Galactica_ is rounding that little moon, behind the glare of the sun, they're going to attack. Right?"

Apollo nodded. It was based on the ability of Dorado's team to distract the Hades-class Base Ship long enough for the _Galactica_ to gain an advantage. It wasn't a position that the captain envied them. They could potentially lose everyone aboard the Abaddon Base Ship, and they were all aware of it. "Exactly."

"What's preventing the Cylons from detecting the _Galactica_ on their scanners first?" Dayton asked. "Before the trap can even be fully set up?"

"Well, Cylons don't have a lot of imagination. It would never occur to them that one of their own Base Ships could be taken over and used against them. Plus, there's the fact that they're going to be defending themselves once the shooting starts. And probably thinking that they'll be moving in for the kill, considering the condition of the Abaddon." Apollo replied. "Dorado will launch Vipers, which should take some of the focus off of them, and hopefully give them the time necessary for the _Galactica_ to get in range and attack."

"I was discussing it with Baker." Dayton paused, motioning towards the _Endeavour_'s radio. "We were thinking of flexing a little Dynamo muscle. After all, we haven't had a chance to test the system." He held a hand up as Apollo opened his mouth. "I know what you're thinking. We'll be betraying our position. But just think . . . if we get the Dynamos to discharge some energy wavelons at just the right time, it will act to confuse the Cylon's radar . . . uh, scanners. All those intensive wavelons coming at them might even make the _Galactica_ appear to be a harmonic image of the Abaddon, if they detect her at all. That alone could give Commander Adama the extra time he needs to get into range undetected, and attack. Minutes, even seconds, are going to be critical here, Captain. And it might give Dorado and his boys a better chance of coming through this alive." Dorado and Rooke—originally of the _Pegasus_—had done time with them on the pirate asteroid. If he could help improve their chances of survival, he would.

"It won't matter if we betray our position, if they destroy that Base Ship." Apollo nodded.

"Not a bit." Dayton agreed. He looked around the cockpit at Boomer, Dickins, Porter and Ryan. "Anybody have a better idea?"

Apollo glanced at his chrono and then nodded, "Get me Baker."

xxxxxxxxxx

"You didn't think I'd stay in the Life Station when you were up here having all this fun, did you?" Cain asked, as Adama raised his considerable eyebrows at him. The Juggernaut strolled determinedly onto the Bridge, back in his familiar one-of-a-kind uniform, his swagger stick in hand. "What's the situation, Adama?" Notably, a loose wire dangled down his back.

The commander knew better than to ask if Cain had been given medical clearance. That would be like asking Starbuck if he'd been staying celibate and temperate on Worship Days. He suppressed a smirk, as an out-of-breath med tech tore onto the Bridge, gazing around desperately. "The Abaddon has been in communications range for five centons, Cain. But she continues to close the distance between the two Base Ships." Adama reported, crossing to the navigation board and showing his old comrade the position of the Base Ships, relative to the _Galactica_. "Once she's in firing range, Malus will open communications and try to distract the Cylons while powering up his weapons."

"The pulsar cannon checked out?" Cain asked frowning. The old ship looked like it would fall apart if it fired its pulsar laser. Hades, it looked like it would fall apart if you tried to paint it.

"According to Captain Dorado." Adama nodded. "He seems to be a capable officer. He's certainly handling himself well. My compliments."

"Well, he has been with the _Galactica_ for the last four sectars, so I can't take all the credit. It's been good for him too, by the looks of it. If I didn't know you better, Adama, I'd suggest you were testing some of the young officers on that list you gave me for my new executive officer." Cain replied, pointing his swagger stick at Adama. "How soon will we be in firing range?"

"Five centons. We're already at flank"

"That _Abaddon_ could be space dust in five centons." Cain replied.

"I'm aware of that . . ."

"Commander Adama, it's Captain Apollo on the _Endeavour_, sir." Athena inserted.

He nodded. "Go ahead, Apollo."

xxxxxxxxxx

"This is acting Commander Malus, of the Base Ship Harrower."

Surprisingly, he was another IL, but of a series so archaic that he made that conniving Spectre look shiny and new. Conspicuously absent was the cloak of distinction that every IL in the Empire wore. It made the old-timer appear astonishingly fragile. Decrepit. Outdated. Much like his wreck of a ship that was on screen. "I am Commander Lucifer." The IL replied, pausing for a moment to consider the other. He could detect the usual centurion complement in the background of the Command Centre. "We've been hailing you for six point eight centons, Commander Malus. Please explain why it took you so long to respond." He had been seriously considering firing a warning shot.

"Our ship was the victim of a solar flare upon entering this system originally, Commander Lucifer. Systems have been down for over a hundred yahrens." Malus replied. "Many of them are still being repaired, our communications system being one of them. I take it you detected our Electro-Identification Beacon before it also malfunctioned?"

"We did."

"How efficient. I commend you on a task well done, Fledgling." He nodded. "I'm running on a minimal crew, Commander Lucifer. Most are still inoperable. Repairs have been slow."

Fledgling? This Malus apparently considered himself superior, based purely on his serial number. "You were dormant for a hundred yahren?" Lucifer paused for effect. "Hmm. By the looks of you, you must be one of the original off the assembly line for your class. I wouldn't be surprised if the conveyance belt wasn't yet functioning when they turned you out. How do you account for your sudden revival?"

"I'm afraid some of my own circuits were damaged, Commander Lucifer, and my internal data recorder cannot be accessed at this time. Also, I'm having trouble linking with our mainframe. I can only surmise it had something to do with strange energy readings that we've since picked up in this quadrant." The oldster paused for a long moment before his lights blinked furiously. Then, "I'm afraid some of my own circuits were damaged, Commander Lucifer, and my internal data recorder cannot be accessed at this time. Also, I'm having trouble linking with our mainframe. I can only surmise it had something to do with strange energy readings that we've since picked up in this quadrant."

"I see." Lucifer replied, making an internal note to get this particular IL unit to the recycling depot as soon as possible. He also accessed the ship's computer for the file on Malus.

"Have you detected any similar readings, Lummander Cucifer?" Malus' lights dimmed for a couple microns and almost extinguished. He seemed to freeze, then slowly both lights and motion restarted. "Commander Lucifer?" His lights seemed to strobe for a couple microns and he turned around in a complete circle. "Oh, there you are."

It was almost amusing that Lucifer had initially thought of this pathetic excuse for a cyborg as being in the same ranks as Spectre. This Malus made Baltar look like a genius. "Not . . . as yet, we haven't. But we've only just entered the quadrant." However, it wasn't the first time his patrol had picked up mysterious readings. The last occurrence they had traced to an asteroid field several parsecs back, where they had concluded the wavelon traces were the result of an explosion that had occurred somewhere between three and five sectars before. An overloaded fusion reactor, to be precise. With the considerable radion levels, as well as the obvious lack of life, any further investigation had seemed pointless. "Have you run a self-diagnostic, Commander Malus? Or is that function also quite beyond you?"

"Yes, Commander Lucifer." Malus replied non-specifically, again pausing as if reviewing his data. "I'm afraid I failed miserably. But at least I don't wear Human clothing." His lights dimmed again. "Did I say that aloud?"

"You did."

"Oh, my." He raised both graspers to cover his optical sensor.

"We detected Vipers not far from here, Commander Malus. Have your patrols come in contact with any Humans?"

"Vipers? Accessing." He pulled down his graspers. "Tell me, Commander Lucifer, what do venomous serpents have to do with Humans? I'm afraid I don't understand. I thought they leaned more towards domestic daggits. Of course, things do change in a centi-yahren."

"Vipers. Fightercraft." Lucifer replied tartly. "Flown by the Colonial Warriors from their Battlestars."

"They must have finally replaced the Starhounds then?"

"Deca-yahrens ago." Lucifer replied. It made him wish he had eyes so he could roll them. Cylons were seriously lacking in the Human gift for facial expressions. Obviously, both the Base Ship and her crew would be scrapped, but as he quickly accessed and digested Malus' file, he realized it would be interesting to discover what the archaic ship—one of three apparently assigned to explore this quadrant and beyond—had discovered. He had none of that data, interestingly enough. Her star charts alone could be invaluable.

"Well, the times, they are a-changing, Youngster."

"Excuse me?" Lucifer replied. He'd had about enough of this dim witted IL and his antagonistic tendencies.

"Oh, just thinking out loud again, Commander Lucifer." Malus emitted a noise akin to a sigh. "Another malfunction of mine, I'm afraid."

"A particularly annoying one, I might add," replied the other.

"Terribly sorry." Malus nodded and then shook his head slowly. "No. I'm not really."

Lucifer would personally engage the crusher on this fool, when the time came. He turned as a centurion reported that powerful energy wavelon pulses had just been picked up by their scanners. "Identify."

"We-cannot. Intermittent-high-power-frequency-signals-are-interferring-with-our-scanners."

"Coordinates of signal?" Lucifer asked.

"Unable-to-pinpoint."

"Felgercarb." Lucifer muttered. "Do you have any data scans of the immediate region, Commander Malus? We're currently detecting those energy wavelons you mentioned."

"Oh, those again. Yes, Commander Lucifer." He turned from one side to the other. "Somewhere around here. Hmm."

"Download them to my ship, at once, as well as all data regarding those signals."

"It would be my ultimate pleasure, Commander Lucifer." Malus turned, and looked at the centurion behind him. "You heard the young whelp. Let him have it." The centurion merely nodded, then turned back to his station.

"Commander Malus?" Lucifer asked sharply. So far there was nothing being received. _And why did the centurion not respond to the order with "By your command"? __Something__. . ._

"Transmitting now, Commander."

Lucifer's optical scanner abruptly picked up the brilliant flash of light heading straight for them, milli-microns before it struck.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Compared to the frenzied state of things aboard the _Endeavour_, the makeshift Life Station in the medical shuttle was paradise. Apollo caught himself sighing aloud with the sudden climate change, as he paused in the hatchway to peek at Starbuck. If the lieutenant was sleeping, he wouldn't disturb him. His friend had looked like the deepest level of Hades Hole the last time the captain had checked on him. Or rather the _underside_ of the same. Not princely, or sun-godly, in the least.

Apollo held up a finger to his lips, as Luana noticed him. She was still at Starbuck's side, her fingers loosely clasped in his. She nodded and glanced back at her dozing husband. Husband. Lords, it was still difficult to imagine Starbuck as _anybody_'s husband. But the one-time heartbreaker had finally fallen helplessly, hopelessly in love. And Apollo couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Starbuck murmured at him, his eyes half open, his voice slurred. He was still ashen, and apparently feeling the effects of a blood loss that hadn't been fully replenished due to limited supplies of his blood type. He swallowed slowly, and then shuddered, closing his eyes and holding his breath for a moment before finally focussing on the captain again. Apparently, his nausea was persisting.

"What's what supposed to mean?" Apollo headed forward, innocently wiping his grin from his face. He leaned down beside Luana, and kissed her on the cheek. "I never did get to kiss the bride."

She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand affectionately for a micron. Then a familiar devilry sparkled in her eyes. "By all means, give me a few for the others."

Apollo chuckled, leaning over Starbuck. "You . . . are in trouble."

Starbuck merely smiled in that self-satisfied way of his, before glancing at his chrono and asking, "What's happening?"

Apollo frowned, unable to help looking upwards. "The _Galactica_ and Dorado should be in the thick of it by now." He met Starbuck's gaze, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"I can't believe we're sitting this one out." For a guy who professed to never volunteer, he looked downright miserable about it. "Doesn't seem natural."

"I know," the captain replied quietly. "We didn't even get to infiltrate this time." They were always leading the attack force in some way, shape or form. Not sitting on the sidelines.

"Are you two a couple squadrons short of a Battlestar?" Luana asked them, narrowing her eyes at them and shaking her head at her husband's condition. "Shall I remind you that we _still_ have a comet bearing down on us very shortly, and now we can't even launch the shuttles. After all, if we head towards the Fleet, it could give them away, or if we head out to space, it could draw attention here, and to the _Endeavour_. The last thing we need is that Base Ship in our laps."

Apollo nodded. She was right. From the resigned look on Starbuck's features, he'd come to the same conclusion.

"Does Baker need to be in the Base to control the wormhole?" Starbuck asked suddenly.

Apollo nodded, letting out a sigh. "He says, yes. If he doesn't close the wormhole, there's nothing stopping the Cylons from following Dickins and Hummer. If not this ship, then . . ."

"Frack that. We'll stop them." Starbuck replied, sitting forward and wincing slightly with the sudden motion. "Remember back at the asteroid base? Dayton said blowing those Dynamos concurrently would have taken out the base, the _Galactica_, and everything in between. You set a couple of those Dynamos to over-energize simultaneously after the _Endeavour_ goes through the wormhole. Instead of closing the door, you . . ."

"You blow it to Hades Hole," Apollo nodded, his eyes lighting up as he considered the logistics. "But the timing would . . ."

"Would have to be perfect." Starbuck nodded, his face animated. "But the way I remember it, it takes a while to fire those babies up. It could give Baker . . ." He looked at Apollo knowingly. "Baker and you the time you need to get out of there."

"It would be close in a shuttle, Starbuck." Apollo murmured, sucking in a breath between his teeth. "Baker's a civilian. And a guest from Earth."

Starbuck shook his head. "Not a shuttle. I've fully qualified both Dayton and Baker to fly Vipers in the sims." He raised a hand. "Yeah. I know it's not by the manual, Apollo, and he's never pulled any cockpit time, but letting him take a Viper is the best chance he has. It's the best chance we all have to get everybody out alive on our end."

Apollo nodded soberly. It was the other end he was more worried about just now.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Beautiful, Bo! Hit her again!" Dorado shouted, as their pulsar blast hit on target, sending molten chunks flying from the other ship's hull. A quick look at the scanners told him he'd succeeded taking out one of the Hades-class Base Ship's two long-range mega-pulsars. A whirl of explosions from the centre point arced outward in a glorious display of metallic firestorm. It had been a strategic necessity. Not only was the newer ship more powerful and better armed, it had longer range. "Launch Vipers!"

"Launch all Vipers." Cree called into the commlink. On one monitor he watched as the launch bay's door began to open. Almost at once, the first Viper emerged into space.

"Might I suggest engaging our defensive shield?" Malus inserted, once again linking with the mainframe, yet hesitating at he awaited Dorado's permission.

"We have one?" Dorado blinked. Wilker had assumed they were nonexistent in this Research vessel.

"We Cylons are known for irritating other Races from one end of the Empire to the other," Malus reminded them. "Defences are, therefore, mandatory."

"All Vipers launched," reported Cree.

"Shield up!" Dorado hollered, as Bojay fired again on the orbiting killer.

xxxxxxxxxx

"What in Cylon. . ." exclaimed Lucifer, as the deck rocked beneath him. Lights flickered, and sparks flew from a console. "What happened?"

"The-other-Base-Ship-has-attacked-us."

"Brilliant, you oaf! I know the other Base Ship has attacked us! Fire control, maximum shields! Full alert all weapons stations!" Lucifer ordered. He felt as though he'd slipped a diode. This ancient Abaddon that was long overdue for the scrap yard was attacking them. The Base Ship shuddered as she took another hit. Klaxons screamed. "Damage report?"

"Portside-mega-pulsar-destroyed," the centurion replied. "Airlock-lost. Alpha-Deck-Section-eight-sealed." A pause. "Damage-to-Gamma-Bay. Extent-unknown."

"Return fire!" Lucifer ordered. "All secondary batteries commence fire!" He watched as Moray did so, but the salvos were falling woefully short, their targeting badly off, as the Abaddon ship pulled back with surprising speed.

"Harrower-is-out-of-range-for-our-batteries. Altering-course-to-engage-starboard-side-mega-pulsar."

"Affirmative. Advance on Harrower. And launch a squadron of fighters when ready."

"By-your-command." Then the whole vessel shook again as another shot from the _Harrower _connected. Less forceful, further away, but they felt it all the same. More alert lights flashed across the control boards. "Forward-turrets-report-fighters-launching-from-Abaddon."

"What of it, Centurion?"

"Fighters-appear-to-be-of-Colonial-origin."

"What?"

"Fighters-appear . . ."

"I heard you the first time!" shouted Lucifer. As he looked at the screen, he couldn't believe it. A Cylon Base Ship was launching _Colonial Vipers_ against him! "Get Baltar up here! Now!"

xxxxxxxxxx

"They did it, sir! The Base Ship is turning about, Commander." Tigh reported.

"Now that's precision shooting, Tigh!" Adama nodded approvingly. "Who would ever have thought it."

"Commander, long-range scans indicate Raiders are launching from a single bay, on a vector for the Abaddon. There's no indication as yet she's seen us, sir," Omega reported.

"The residual wavelons from Dynamos could still be scrambling her sensors. It will leave her vulnerable on our approach." Adama replied. "Take us in. Delta 1-8. Battle stations!"

"Yes, sir. Battle stations!" Tigh echoed. "Seal all compartments!"

Throughout the huge warship, hatches sealed and emergency bulkheads closed. Damage control parties hurried in preparation, Life Station was a whirlwind of activity, and every member of her crew rushed to their designated battle station. Every weapon mounted on the _Galactica_'s hull drank in energy from her huge energizer, ready to unleash it at the foe ahead. As everyone scurried to prepare, Cain watched approvingly. It had been a long time since he'd been on the bridge of someone _else's_ Battlestar as they prepared for an attack. _Oh, to be back on the __Pegasus_ _right now! _

"All sections report ready for attack, Commander," said Tigh.

"Range to Base Ship?" asked Adama.

"Fifty microns and closing, Commander. We will be in visual range in four centons."

"Commander!" said Athena. "Incoming message from the _Pegasus._"

xxxxxxxxxx

It had probably never happened before in his life, but as he stood there, regarding Dick Dickins—a man he had come to know like a brother in the last thirty years—he couldn't think of a single appropriate thing to say, as the other prepared to launch the _Endeavour_ into a wormhole that could either destroy him or deliver him and Hummer to Earth with a vital message that could potentially save their homeworld from the Cylons. It was pretty heady stuff. Maybe that's why he resorted to . . . "Break a leg, Dick."

Dickins smiled and grasped Dayton's hand, shaking it firmly. He'd already said his farewells to the others. "I broke Apollo's arm in hoverhockey the other day. Does that count?"

"Why the hell not?" Dayton grinned. Then his features grew solemn. "Dick . . ."

"Let's skip the maudlin goodbyes, Mark." Dickins frowned. "I'll see you on Earth when you arrive. Take care of our guys. And yourself."

"Well, I'll try. And you . . . keep a table warm for us at _Randy'_s, okay?"

"You got it. Brewskies and steaks, just like always," he grinned.

"With _onions._"

"Right. _Walla Walla Sweets, _and plenty of 'em . . ." Dickins chuckled. ". . . to cover up the blood gushing out of yours!"

"You know me so well."

"After thirty years, it's no big surprise, Mark." He leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "And for God's sake, don't take too long about making an honest woman of Cassiopeia. She deserves the best that you can be."

"Sounds like a recruitment add." Dayton smiled, then nodded soberly. Dickins had a special bond with his lady, which had started upon awakening in the _Galactica_'s Life Station four months ago. "I know she does."

"And heed Ryan," Dickins smirked. "He's usually right."

Dayton chuckled. "So he keeps telling me."

With a nod and a slap on Dayton's shoulder, Dickins turned and followed Hummer into the _Endeavour_. Moments later the hatch closed, and they were all backing away from the Orbiter shuttle as she prepared to launch with Colonial engines that would propel her towards Earth, providing the wormhole worked and the old bird came safely through the other end. Dickins had ordered his passenger to suit up, not entirely trusting that the newly fitted window had had sufficient time to set properly. He would begin running her through the pre-flight checks any second.

Dayton made his way towards a Colonial Viper while others prepared to board the shuttles, which would deliver them to a safer position in orbit of the planet . . . if there was one, considering the size of that rock heading towards them. He looked up, to where the comet now filled a huge area of the sky. Personally, he had his doubts, but admittedly he had less experience with comets than the Colonials. He still wasn't sure how he had managed to convince Apollo that it was absolutely necessary that he be in that Cylon Ground Base, alongside Baker, to watch Dickins make this ultimate sacrifice to save Earth. Maybe it was something to do with friendship, duty and allegiance. All were certainly values that Apollo understood. This would be Dayton's first solo, and would indicate to the Strike Captain if Baker—the better pilot of the two, or so Dayton had claimed—could cut the Colonial mustard. Dayton could almost convince himself that his eloquent speech, mixing the usual confusing colloquialisms with fact—as well as a smidge of bull shit—had nothing to do with him wanting an opportunity to fly one of their birds. Almost.

He turned one last time, shielding his eyes against the setting sun, knowing that Dickins would be going through his final checks. Last-minute modifications should enable him to almost single-handedly fly the shuttle, with Hummer and a languatron at his side to read instruments. He just hoped that Dick wouldn't need to use the 'special addition' they'd made to the shuttle at the last minute. He let out a deep breath, shaking his head slightly, as he felt Paddy's hand rest supportively on his shoulder.

"Godspeed, Dick . . ." Dayton murmured. "Safe home."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Bedtime for Bucko?"

Starbuck fought to open his eyes at the sound of Boomer's voice, smiling slightly at the teasing lilt in his tone. "We taking off?"

"Unless you want to stay?"

"Umm . . .no."

"I thought not. Yeah, we are. In a centon." Boomer nodded, glancing at his chrono as Lia, his co-pilot, passed him on her way forward. "Apollo and Dayton are probably landing at the Base about now." He studied his friend a moment. "You've looked better."

"I feel like a million cubits . . ." He sniffed at Boomer's clear scepticism. "In a mong hole."

"All counterfeit, I'll bet," Boomer chuckled. "Now we're approaching the truth." He squeezed Starbuck's good shoulder. "We'll be back aboard the _Galactica_ before you know it."

"Have you heard anything?"

Boomer shook his head, knowing he meant the battle. "Nothing. We might pick something up on the comm when we make orbit. But that incoming comet is scrambling signals."

Starbuck nodded briefly, paling slightly, and laboriously rolling on his side, his hand pressed to his stomach. "Let me know . . ." he breathed, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Just get some rest and let the rest of us worry about them." Boomer counselled him, nodding over at Cassiopeia.

"Yeah, right," he murmured hearing a soft whoosh as Cassie dosed him again with the hypospray.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Wh-where are you t-t-taking me?"

Baltar despised the sound of his trembling voice, as the two centurions pulled him along the corridors of the Base Ship. His Base Ship. At least it _was_ until the treacherous Lucifer usurped his power and his command during his absence, after he had rendezvoused with the Colonial Fleet under a flag of truce. He'd rip that scrawny IL apart, limb from limb, circuit by cir . . .

"Silence."

He felt his body tremble in turn, no doubt in response to the similarity of this situation to when he'd been hauled before the Imperious Leader, thinking he was about to be executed. If only he had had an audience with the Imperious Leader again upon his resurrection, instead of Lucifer. As Lieutenant Starbuck had once mentioned, the IL wasn't easily impressed with him. Nor was he easily mislead.

That was why Baltar had been rotting in the Brig for too many sectons to count, since being picked up by Lucifer from his planet of exile, and then subsequently and summarily accused and convicted of collaborating with the enemy. Admittedly, it hadn't look good in retrospect. A cozy, temperate planet with lots of fresh water and fertile land, and enough Colonial supplies to keep him alive with very little effort for some time to come. Then there was his short-range transmitter.

To Lucifer it was proof positive that he had done some kind of favour for the Colonial people. After all, the Betrayer of the Colonies wasn't likely to be dropped off for good behaviour, or because of overpopulation difficulties on the Prison Barge. The IL had done a simple calculation based on the amount of spent and discarded supplies to determine how long Baltar had been planetside. It had made the man wish he'd been a better housekeeper. Then Lucifer correlated that data with the somewhat similarly-timed loss of another Cylon Base Ship. The newly assigned "Commander" had decided _that_ Base Star's disappearance had Adama's signature all over it . . . courtesy of "Baltar's intelligence". Lucifer's favourite oxymoron, by the way.

Baltar had had far too much time since then to wonder what would come next. But wondering what would come next was preferable to dwelling on the past. There was no room for remorse or regret, or so he had told himself time and time again. It was simply too late. He had to resign himself to whatever fate lay before him.

The only trouble was . . . it wasn't in his nature.

xxxxxxxxxx

When he jumped down from the Viper, Dayton had to look down to make sure his feet were still touching the ground. It had been quite the exhilarating feeling being in a fighter again. _Especially_ one with the manoeuvrability, speed and performance capability of the Viper, a machine centuries ahead of anything he'd ever flown. He glanced up at the sky, seeing the looming comet, and wondering just how much time they had left. Then he glanced back towards where they had come from. Somewhere up there was his small intestine. All twenty-three feet of it. He vaguely remembered it protesting as he performed a particularly stunning roll to test the limitations of the machine . . . or maybe his ability as a fighter pilot. That was the last he'd heard from it. He was reasonably sure that it had bailed out at twenty-three thousand feet.

"Nice flying," Apollo slapped him on the shoulder as he jogged over to join him.

"Nice bird," Dayton returned, forcing his legs to swing into motion and join the captain as they trotted towards the Base's entrance. Off to the side, he could see other Colonial Warriors in their Vipers, preparing to lift off. They would be escorting the shuttles—including the _Endeavour_—into orbit.

"Dayton!" Dietra appeared from the mouth of the cave. She nodded at Apollo. "Captain, we have acquired a visual of the battle through the satellite network. It's going to plan, sir."

"Perfect." Apollo returned, nodding at the lieutenant and hurrying towards the Control Centre.

"I'll see you there in a min . . . centon, Captain," Dayton called ahead, as Dietra stopped before him and walked into a tight embrace.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she murmured. "Please tell me that Paddy isn't hiding in the nose of your ship." She sniffed.

"Don't worry, he's safely aboard the shuttle." He squeezed her tightly in return. She'd been a good friend to them since she and Giles had delivered them to the Fleet for the very first time. She'd been much more than that to his best friend, Ryan.

She backed away, looking at him seriously. "That's where you should be, Mark."

He shook his head. "Not with Baker here, and that comet bearing down on all of us."

"What do you think you can do?" Her tone was merely curious. Not condescending

"I don't know," he shook his head. He'd wondered the same thing a dozen times himself. "But I'll be more likely to do it from here, than in the back of a shuttle."

She smiled knowingly, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Good luck. Remember to get your astrums out of here in good time." She nodded towards the closest Viper. "I'll leave my fighter here for Baker. Boomer's going to pick me up . . ." She glanced at her chrono, "In five centons."

"Right." He nodded, and turned to go, breaking into a jog once again as he entered the dimly lit tunnel. Abruptly, he half-turned, hollering back, "Fare thee well, sweet Dietra! The angels ride with you!"

She smiled at his words. Ever the charmer. "And you, Dayton!" She raised a hand in goodbye as he faded from sight.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Well, we obviously have their undivided attention!" Bojay exclaimed. The _Hades_-class Base Ship bore down on them, as they continued to steadily retreat. "Here she comes!"

"Shields at seventy-five percent," Malus informed them.

"Can we get any more?" Dorado asked.

"Not with one of our reactors down," Malus replied. "And all the damage from the explosion has destroyed much of the deflection grid on that side of the ship, Captain. Fortunately, we're still out of effective range of their turrets."

"Red Leader here. Captain, I make two squadrons of Raiders coming for us, sir!"

"Hold course, Jolly. As soon as they're in range, open fire and then break, splitting up. The Raiders should pursue."

"Aye, sir."

"Something else to hold the Cylon's attention?" Bojay asked.

"Yeah, we're not exactly known for attacking and then turning tail to run," Dorado shrugged. "Besides, our guys won't stand a chance if they launch everything they've got. They're already outnumbered."

"Commander Adama would say that we're used to that." Bojay grinned. Brie and Cree murmured their agreement.

"Commander Cain would suggest we fly with one arm tied behind our backs to give them a fighting chance," Dorado replied, looking at the narrowing gap on the scanners between the two capital ships. "C'mon _Galactica_, we're waiting . . ."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Raetic, set course for the two Base Ships!" ordered Sheba, on the _Pegasus _bridge.

"But . . . in our condition, Captain?" Raetic asked.

"We still have our forward weapons and missiles, and the rest of it, well, the Cylons will just see one more Battlestar bearing down on them." Sheba grinned. "Hopefully, it will scare the pogees out of them, and they won't think twice about heading towards the Fleet."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Best possible speed, Raetic. Our people are waiting."

xxxxxxxxxx

"That's my girl!" Cain grinned in approval after they cut communications with the _Pegasus_. He laughed, a loud, deep laugh. "Cut from the same cloth as her old man!"

"Indeed, she is!" Adama smiled. It had been an inspired idea on Sheba's part. He glanced at the scanner, and then looked up to see his first glimpse of the _Hades_-class Base Star. "There! There she is, Tigh!"

"Range, one micron."

"Prepare to fire," said two voices in unison.

Omega looked up, and saw Adama and Cain, looking at each other. With a sheepish grin and his hands raised in deference, the younger commander stepped back. Omega stifled a smile himself, then looked to Adama.

"All weapons show ready, Commander."

Adama nodded, his eyes narrowing . . .

xxxxxxxxxx

"The Control Centre?" Baltar muttered, as the centurions thrust him through the entrance. The ship had shuddered not once, but twice. There was only one possibility. They were under attack, and Lucifer needed his help. Which could only mean . . .

Adama!

"Lucifer! What in Hades Hole . . ."

"Silence!" said one of his guards.

"Welcome, Baltar. A curious turn of events has occurred, which may interest you. An archaic _Abaddon-_class Base Ship is attacking and launching _Colonial_ Fighters against us." Lucifer immediately supplied.

"Vipers? From a Cylon Base Ship?" Baltar repeated, clearly taken by surprise. "What are you babbling about, Lucifer?"

"See for yourself, Baltar," said Lucifer, gesturing him towards the tactical display. "As you see. It is no babble, Baltar. I am quite serious."

Baltar studied the screen, then he smiled and laughed loud and long. "How typically unexpected, Adama!" He laughed again. "But how did you manage to get your hands on . . .?"

"May I remind you that you are _also_ at risk, Baltar." Lucifer pointed out sagaciously, appealing to the Human's well-known survival instinct. "To employ one of your Human sayings, 'if it happens to me, it happens to you'."

Baltar's smile slipped along with his recent newfound allegiance with his own kind. "If there are Vipers, there has to be a nearby Battlestar. I suggest you locate it." He snapped, his voice rising.

"_Abaddon_-Base-Ship-in-range." Centurion Moray reported.

"Fire starboard laser turrets, and prepare to fire remaining mega pulsar." Lucifer ordered. "Check the scanners for any sign of a Colonial Battlestar."

Then the ship rocked and shuddered.

"Lucifer, I. . . ."Baltar gripped tightly to a centurion to steady himself.

"Commander. Battlestar-detected-off-our-stern. Dropping-out-of-lightspeed,. Scanners-show-all-weapons-in-target-acquisition."

"Open a channel," ordered Lucifer. "Perhaps Commander Adama . . ."

"Commander," said the same centurion. "Second-Battlestar-detected."

_"__WHAT??__"_said both Human and IL.

"Confirmed. Enemy-quartering-in-from-port. Z-minus-fifteen. Approaching-at-point-three four-lightspeed."

"Oh felgercarb. . ." said Lucifer, as a massive shudder beneath them bespoke the _Galactica'_s first salvo.

"Retreat!" screamed Baltar, still trying to retain his footing by clinging to the centurion. "Retreat!"


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

You can't con a conman.

Starbuck's skin had an unhealthy pallor, and his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly as his life mask steamed up with each breath. Cassiopeia's presence had been constant, and that blasted biomonitor seemed to be back hovering over the restless warrior every few centons, recording his condition. Starbuck was sweating, and his eyes seemed to flutter open, without looking anywhere in particular, before closing once again. He had been in continuous motion since the shuttle had launched, distractedly pulling at his lines, until Chameleon was posted on one side of him, and Luana the other, in an attempt to prevent him from pulling out necessary tubes and medical apparatus.

"What's wrong?" Chameleon finally asked the med tech.

"He's holding his own, Chameleon." She looked steadily at him, reaching over to squeeze the withered hand that was firmly holding his son's. "His blood pressure is low, and he could benefit from more blood, but he reacts so severely to the synthetic blood product, we're going to hold it for now, and just monitor him." She glanced at Dr. Paye, who nodded his agreement.

"You can take more of mine," Chameleon replied.

"We already took more than I'm comfortable with, for a man of your . . . _experience,_" she smiled gently. "Much more, and Starbuck won't be the only one on a biostretcher."

"He was doing so well, before we launched." Luana commented, shaking her head at the difference in him.

"He was more alert, certainly, but really he's doing just fine. I've given him some extra medication for the nausea, and it's made him sleepy. That's all," Cassie assured them.

"You're sure?" Chameleon asked again, feeling Ama's hand rest lightly on his shoulder. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then moved ever so slightly to kiss Starbuck on the forehead.

"I'm sure." Cassiopeia replied, smiling in amusement as the necromancer brushed Starbuck's hair from his forehead in a motherly fashion. She spared another glance at Chameleon. He might hide it well behind a pyramid face schooled by a lifetime of practice, but she could see his fear. The fear for the only thing in his life of which he was proud. The son who had grown to outshine him.

"You're worrying your father and your wife, dear heart," Ama murmured. She patted his cheek lightly. Then she smiled, her tone uncharacteristically soft and inquisitive, almost singsong. "_Solarus_?"

"Mmm . . . ama . . ." Starbuck murmured, his eyes fluttering open briefly. Ama again smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead lightly. Starbuck sighed in contentment and settled back to sleep.

"Did he just say . . .?" Luana asked in surprise, glancing at her godmother in amazement.

Chameleon smiled, tears pricking his eyes that memories so long repressed could come back here and now. "I believe he did."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Okay, Houston, what have we got?" Dayton called out breathlessly as he ran into the Control Centre where Baker and Apollo were monitoring the situation, eyes glued to the display above them.

The massive screen had been split into four fields. Apparently, the satellite network was capable of multi-tracking and display. At a glance, he could see the _Galactica_ engaging the Base Star. It looked as thought that battle was just beginning. Again, he was astonished at the resolution and clarity of the images. NASA had nothing on this! With a sigh of relief, he could see the smaller _Abaddon_ ship, still in one piece, shooting randomly at their bigger foe, as well as a squadron of Vipers being pursued by Raiders on another screen. They were some distance from the capital ship battle now, but were turning around, obviously recalled. He nodded as the smaller Viper force also reversed direction and began nipping at their heels. He let out a small cheer as a Cylon fighter boiled into nothing, pinned by a pursuing Viper.

"_Endeavour_ has reached orbit, Mark," Baker told him. "Everything's reading nominal. They're proceeding."

"Both shuttles and the Vipers are off the ground," Apollo added, as the top right screen showed Shuttle 135 accelerating towards orbit.

"And the comet?" Dayton swallowed. His chest hitched painfully as he stared at the massive hunk of rock and ice, hurtling towards them, gaining speed with every passing moment. "How much time?"

Baker paused. "About thirty . . . seven minutes, near as I can reckon."

"J. C. Power and Light Company . . ." Dayton murmured. "Gonna be close."

"Too damn close," offered Apollo, with a frown.

Baker nodded, hitting the keys on the control panel as various algorithms were displayed on screen. "Now, I hate to open up a can of worms but . . ."

Dayton groaned. "Let's get on with it, Bob. I'll go get my tackle box later."

"While we're energizing the Dynamos . . . " Baker chuckled at his friend's response. "I'm wondering if we'll lose our satellite capabilities as the power is diverted."

"Sometimes the worm turns." Dayton quipped as he watched power levels begin to rise on screen. He blinked as they lost their visuals on the _Galactica_, the Vipers, and last of all, the rendezvousing shuttlecraft.

"The _Endeavour_!" Apollo exclaimed as the satellite system locked on the ship closest to the converged Dynamos. Now half the overhead screen displayed the technical details of the wormhole, and the other showed the Earth shuttle.

"I wonder what the wormhole will look like from Dick's perspective?" Baker mused, scratching his stubbly chin.

"The Dynamos have an ambient glow to them," Apollo remembered. "He should be able to see it as the array gathers energy."

Dayton nodded, wishing he could be there with his friend. In more ways than one.

_Damn it! Endeavour is my ship. I should be there!_

XXXXXXXXXX

A blue glow, that grew both in intensity and density as the _Endeavour_ flew ever closer, spiralled outward like a hurricane, until the evenly-spaced Dynamos could no longer be recognized as separate units. The wormhole looked as though it was a living, seething, monstrous entity. Dickins looked down at the instruments, then back at the ports.

"God, it looks like something out of a really bad _Deep Space Nine_ episode," muttered the Earthman. He looked over at the obviously curious Hummer, but the technician apparently hadn't understood him. "Never mind."

"Are you ready for this?" Hummer asked, his stomach lurching at the thought of flying into that . . . _thing_ voluntarily. He couldn't help but look beside them to reassure himself that their Viper escort was still there. Not that they would do him any good once they entered the wormhole.

"I've been ready for thirty years." Dickins replied, listening as the languatron translated his words to his Colonial sidekick. "ETA, ten minutes."

"Come in, _Endeavour_." Baker's voice came over the line, a bit crackly. "_Endeavour_, do you read?"

"Affirmative, ground control," Dickins replied calmly. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so right about doing something. It was as though God Almighty was gently guiding him and the ship, setting it back on the flight path it had started on over thirty years ago. "What's shaking, Baker?"

"Do you have a visual on the wormhole, Dick?" Dayton inserted, his voice tense.

"Affirmative on wormhole visual, Mark. That we do. She's a beauty." Dickins replied with a faint chuckle at Hummer's groan of dismay. "Like some strange and magnificent nebula." He flipped a switch on the console. "Forward camera on. Can you see it?"

"Oh yeah, Dick. And in living colour!"

"We're getting telemetry from the Vipers now too," Apollo inserted, his breath abruptly catching in his throat. "Holy frack . . ."

"Man alive, Dick . . .." Dayton shook his head, looking at the tumultuous whirling dervish that looked as though it would tear the space shuttle to pieces. The telemetry they were getting from both the shuttle and the Vipers was scrolling by up the screen, but made little sense to any of them.

"Make that _two_ men, if you don't mind." Hummer added, his mouth dry.

"My apologies, Hummer," said Dayton with a faint smile.

Apollo nodded. He'd come to like the odd young technician that Wilker had taken under his wing. He fervently hoped things would go well for him on Earth. Lords, he hoped they _made it_ to Earth.

"Are you _sure_ about this, Dick?" Dayton asked.

"Mark, I haven't been this sure about anything since that night on Crete in that little village, when I drank you under the table. Remember?"

"Umm . . . I lost track after about the tenth shot of _raki,_ old friend."

"You lost _consciousness_, you mean!"

"I love you too, Dick." Dayton laughed.

"Careful. People might talk."

"That's okay," Baker inserted with a snort. "They'll be speaking Colonial Standard."

Dickins chuckled. "Anyway, see ya on Earth, guys."

"Make sure the beers are chilled!" Dayton returned. "And Dick . . . tell my daughter I love her."

"I'll tell your whole family, buddy." Dickins replied. "Right after I tell mine."

XXXXXXXXXX

"All batteries, fire! Hit her with everything we've got!" Dorado ordered. "She's going to turn to engage the _Galactica_!"

"The trouble being, we don't have much left," Malus replied patiently. He hit the firing control, and pinned the other ship dead centre. "All functional batteries firing. Is it time for our surprise?"

"No time like the present, Malus," Bojay grinned. It had been almost a little disturbing that a Cylon would do this to its own kind. Then again, Malus had claimed to have changed sides, and they were only cybernetic Beings.

Come to think of it, that sounded a lot like Baltar . . .

"Fire!" Dorado cried.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Return fire, all batteries! Bring us about so we can use our mega pulsar on the _Galactica_!" Lucifer ordered, then looked at Baltar as the Base Ship shuddered and groaned with another salvo from the Battlestar. "The probabilities against this happening are phenomenal."

"Don't just stand there calculating, you oversized analyser! Get us out of here!" Baltar hollered. "Can't you see that this is a trap!"

"Commander. We-have-detected-massive-energy-wavelon-bursts-in-this-quadrant," Moray indicated the navigation screen.

"From either Battlestar?"

"Negative, Commander."

"Identify." Lucifer returned.

"I-cannot. The-computer-does-not-recognize-the-energy-signature." Moray paused.

"Interesting." Lucifer replied, then looked to his scan officer. "Position of the second Battlestar?"

"Second Battlestar at thirty-one microns and closing. Speed now at point three-seven light-speed, sir."

"Hmm . . ." said Lucifer. The second Battlestar was obviously the long-missing _Pegasus. _Its slower speed attested to some damage, he was certain, yet the legendary 'Juggernaut' was apparently not letting something like that interfere with getting into the fight. He looked at the scanners. Before long, he would be hemmed in by the old Base Ship and both Battlestars, and then the real fighting would begin. There was no way he could survive such a barrage. _That _made sense, from a strictly tactical standpoint. But these new energies, coming from somewhere else . . . where did _they _figure into the equation? And why did an IL Series choose to join with Humans? He switched back to the here-and-now, glancing at Baltar. "Any thoughts on what your fellow Humans are up to?"

"Two Battlestars and a seized _Abaddon_ Base Ship," Baltar snapped. "Whatever is happening, you can be assured that Adama is up to something. They're not _just _attacking us, they're acting as a decoy. Keeping us busy fighting for our lives while they . . ." Baltar broke off as a wave of unidentified space debris was fired at them from the _Abaddon_. "What _is_ that?"

"Aft-batteries-report-that-a-battalion-of-centurions-was-fired-at-us." A pause. "No-damage-sustained. We-were-out-of-range."

"They're throwing space junk at us?" Baltar repeated incredulously. It would almost be funny, if they weren't surrounded. What kind of commander would fire the enemies 'dead' at them? Surely, not Adama? _Cain?_

"I'd suggest their offensive resources are limited. Interesting." Lucifer replied, returning his attention to the energy source. "Baltar, it could well be that their precious Fleet is holed up in that quadrant. And they are desperate to keep us away from it, while it seeks to effect escape." He looked back to Baltar. "Well?"

Baltar hesitated, his eyes darting wildly from telemetry to navigation, as he grew increasingly desperate to get out of there. "It's possible."

"Undefended?" Lucifer asked.

Baltar blew out a short breath. "No. Adama would not take such a risk. But, they are most certainly defended at best by minimal Viper cover, and the few defensive artillery ships that they have adapted." His jaw twitched. "Against a fully loaded Base Star, they might as well be throwing . . . deactivated centurions." The Base Ship rocked again, as a shot from Adama connected. They could hear the hum of their pulsar's own massive storage capacitrons discharging in answer.

"Scans-show-Vipers-launching-from-the-second-Battlestar. Her-weapons-are-reading-as- fully-charged."

"ETA till her weapons come to bear?"

"Six-point-nine-centons."

"Helm! Disengage at once. Set a course for the energy source, maximum speed." Lucifer ordered.

"What-about-our-Squadrons?"

"Leave them here to engage the _Galactica_! That will keep her busy!" Baltar ordered.

Almost as though he was still in command, they complied.

XXXXXXXXXX

"That was close!" Tigh exclaimed as a blast from the Base Star's mega-pulsar left him feeling singed.

"Damage report?" barked Adama.

"Lighting and life-support out in the port-side Cadet's billet, and secondary galley, sir. Lifts to and from that section are off-line. Fires reported in machine shop on Zeta Deck, Section Four. Boraton mist suppression is engaged."

"Very well. The enemy?"

"They're pulling out, Commander!" Omega told him. "Towards the _Abaddon_!"

Of all the allied capital ships, it imposed the least threat.

"Wait . . ." Adama murmured, watching as the Base Ship began moving through a field of its own long ago deactivated Cylons. Each centurion had been loaded with a solenite charge, designed to be activated as it was shot through the old ship's archaic, and only somewhat functional, missile launcher, and then designed to explode on the next significant impact. With the tired state of the missile launcher, the centurions wouldn't actually reach Lucifer's Base Star, but would form an effective mine field. The idea had apparently been Malus', but Doctor Wilker had been intrinsic in its application.

"Commander, picking up multiple explosions aft of the Base Star." Omega reported.

"By all the Lords, it's working!" Cain murmured. "Now, let's see just what her shields are capable of!"

XXXXXXXXXX

_Rumble!_

"Damage report!" Lucifer demanded as they abruptly cut power. Still, the inertia alone carried them forward through the small, but effective 'mine field' of their fellow centurions, long before their powerful engines could stop their progress.

"Several-hull-breaches, decks-alpha-through-delta, sections-six-through-nine. Compartments- sealed," reported Moray. The ship vibrated as another charge detonated against their hull.

"'Throwing space junk' at us, I believe you said, Baltar?" Lucifer pointed out. Several of the 'mines' were being taken out by their defensive gunnery, but a few had evaded their efforts.

"No need to rub it in, Lucifer!" Baltar replied, holding tight to a control console as the ship shuddered yet again. "Well, what are we waiting for? The Imperious Leader to be stuffed and mounted under their bowsprit?"

"They don't have a bowsprit . . ."

"_Get us out of here_!"

XXXXXXXXXX

"The Cylon Base Ship is pulling out!" Raetic exclaimed. "Scanners picking up numerous small explosions in her proximity."

"Damn!" Sheba stormed over to the console, watching as the Cylons accelerated past the _Abaddon_, her batteries and remaining mega-pulsar still firing at the _Galactica_. The Battlestar answered back, hitting her hard. "Where is she headed?"

"Looks like Planet 'P'. I'm picking up energy readings from the Dynamos orbiting the planet, as well. No doubt, the Cylons are reading them too."

Sheba nodded. "Well, we've done our part. At least she's not heading towards the Fleet right now." She gritted her teeth that her part was limited to virtually sitting this one out, and just intimidating the enemy with their mere presence. _So close __ another couple of bloody centons, and we'd have been in weapons range!_

"Should we recall our fighters?" asked Raetic, rechecking the scanner. Their Vipers were about to engage.

"No. If we don't finish off those Raiders, Dorado could be in real trouble. He's got to have all the help we can possibly give him. What is Commander Adama doing?"

"_Galactica_ is pursuing. Right on the other Base Ship's tail."

She nodded, but the thought of Apollo being stuck at the ground base on Planet 'P', essentially helpless against an orbital barrage by an attacking Cylon Base Ship as well as an encroaching comet, infiltrated her thoughts. _Father, if ever we needed your tactical genius, it's now. _

"Do we withdraw?" asked Raetic.

She made a fist, and hit the arm of her chair. "No! Slow and limping we may be, but the _Pegasus _is going forward."

"Yes, ma'am!" said Raetic with a grin. "Our speed is up another percent of lightspeed."

"Good." She let out a heavy sigh as she studied the scanners, watching the Base Star draw closer to Apollo's team, the _Galactica_ falling back ever so slightly. "Hurry . . ." she whispered.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I wish we could see what was happening," Lia murmured, from the co-pilot's seat in the shuttle.

"Starbuck's tough. He's been through worse than this. He'll be fine," Boomer reassured her.

"I meant with the _Endeavour_. As well as Captain Apollo and the ground base." Lia smiled slightly, glancing at Boomer and his misconception. "I mean, being up here tucked safely out of the way of the Dynamos and comet is logical and all, especially with civilians and wounded aboard, but it isn't . . ." She shrugged, breaking off her words.

"I know." Boomer nodded, glancing at the scanners. He could see the _Endeavour_ and Viper escort nearing what was only detectable as an enormous unknown energy source. "I'd rather be at the party too, but we all have our parts to play, and each role is equally important."

"Do you really believe that?" Lia asked after a moment. "Shuttle pilots could be doing this, Boomer. I feel like I should be with the rest of Blue Squadron on the _Galactica_, facing that Base Ship."

He nodded towards the back of the shuttle. "A lot of people that I care about are back there, Lia. One of my best friends among them. Getting them home safely is at the top of my priority list right now." He glanced at her. "Don't worry, they can destroy one lone Base Ship without us."

She frowned, studying the scanner as a blip appeared on the edge of the screen, moving fast. "Then what's that on our scanner?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Veering off now, _Endeavour_. As much fun as it looks, I think we'll stay out of the way," Greenbean quipped as the Viper escort deviated from the Earth shuttle's flight path. He didn't know if that thing was capable of sucking a ship into it, but he didn't want to get close enough to find out either. Hummer and Baker had been clear about when to veer off. He glanced down at his instruments, which were beginning to react erratically to the escalating wavelons. His scanners were all but useless. He looked to his right, where the approaching comet was now larger than the sun. "Best of luck."

"Thanks, Greenbean," Hummer replied, his body tensing as they drew ever nearer to the wormhole. "Baker, how much longer until it's fully energized and ready to give us a ride?"

The Earthman's voice crackled over the comm from down on the Base. "Energy levels are at eighty-five percent. Is there any effect of the wormhole on the ship or instruments so far?"

"Well, we used to say that we were actually flying the _computers_ that fly the ship, but they're all starting to go a little crazy just now," Dickins replied as the multifunctional electronic display subsystem started flickering off and on, virtually unreadable and useless. Even the Colonial additions were malfunctioning. He went through the usual procedures to try and resurrect them, but still they flickered mockingly at him.

"Do you still have control, Dick? Navigation?" Dayton inserted.

"I'm not sure I ever really did," his friend mused.

"This is no time to get philosophical, Captain!" Dayton returned sharply, pausing as Apollo's hand gripped his shoulder tightly. "What?"

"What's that?" the young man pointed.

"Baker?" Dayton asked, as a light flashed.

Baker furiously tapped some keys until the screen split, and the satellite system seemed to be functioning once again.

"Energy to the Dynamos just dropped thirty percent," Dayton told him. "We can't run it concurrently with the wormhole."

"Just a sec," Baker replied, zeroing in on a blip that rapidly grew and became more distinct. "I don't know what it is exactly, but it's sure as hell big!" the Earthman exclaimed. "Looks a bit like that Cylon Base Ship, only larger and twice as ornery. And it's coming in faster than anything _I've_ ever seen before!" He tried to get a reading. "She's moving at over a hundred twenty thousand a second, guys."

"It _is_ a Cylon Base Ship!" Apollo told them, his voice tense. "_Hades_ class!"

"I take it that that's bad," said Baker, dryly.

"_Hades_ usually is," rejoined Apollo.

"Reverting power to the Dynamos!" Baker responded.

"Wait!" Apollo stilled his hand. "Is there any sign of the _Galactica_?"

Baker fingers flew across the keys again. "There she is. She's coming, but not quite as fast."

Apollo nodded. "The Base Ships accelerate faster at sublight, and have a greater cruising speed."

"Bully for them. Diverting power back to the Dynamos." Baker informed them. "Back up to eighty-two percent, and rising."

"_Endeavour_, we have a Cylon capital ship coming in on a beeline for the wormhole." Dayton informed them, glancing at the scanner. "Bearing 178 by 360." He glanced at Apollo, who nodded.

"There she is," said Hummer, looking out a port. The Cylon ship was now just visible, and growing larger by the moment.

"I hope they brought their passports." Dickins muttered over the line. "Otherwise, we'll have to turn them back at the border."

"Greenbean!" Apollo interrupted. "Did you receive those coordinates? Can you get between the _Endeavour_ and the Base Ship? Distract them?"

"Aye, Skipper." He swore softly as he saw the approaching Base Star. "Beginning diversionary manoeuvres."

"What's the countdown on the comet?" Apollo asked.

"You don't want to know." Baker swallowed.

"Yes, I do!" replied the captain, all officer.

Baker recognized the tone, and understood it. With a touch of his fingertips, a chronological countdown appeared on screen. "Seventeen minutes, Captain, until the leading edge contacts the atmosphere. Then all Hell breaks loose down here."

"Can they make it through the wormhole in time, though?"

"They'll make it. Easy. As long as that Cylon Ship doesn't try and stop them."

"They _have_ to make it through." Apollo breathed. "Earth's future as well as ours could depend on it."

"I hate to sound self-centred, but will _we_ make it?" Dayton asked, an eye on the countdown. For an instant, an image of a beautiful blonde crossed his mind. It almost took him aback when he realized it was Cassiopeia, and not Yvonne.

"God knows. This is gonna be like playing ping-pong with a nuke." Baker replied.

"Come again?" Apollo asked with a shake of his head.

"It's bad, Captain. _Hades_ bad."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

The damage to the Cylon Base Ship was now so serious that disengaging and reporting the position of the _Galactica _to his superiors, as well as the presence of the _Pegasus_ and newly pirated _Abaddon_, was the only logical course of action that Lucifer could see open to him.

"Scanners-detecting-three-transport-vehicles, and-a-meagre-taskforce-of-Vipers-on-two-different-vectors," Centurion Moray told them, pointing out the two shuttles with fighter escort in orbit, as well as the single unidentifiable transport with an equal contingent of fighters near the energy source.

"Identify lone transport." Lucifer ordered. He'd never seen anything quite like it. The power curve from its engines read as similar to Colonial, and there were Human biosigns aboard it, but the vessel itself . . .

"Unable to-identify-vessel, Commander. There-is-no-reference-to-this-configuration-in-our-data-banks." Moray paused. "Vipers-are-moving-to-engage-us."

"All of them?" Baltar asked.

"It-appears-so. From-both-directions. Scanners-are-becoming-intermittent-as-we-draw-nearer-to-the-source-of-unidentified-energy."

"Can you tell what it is?" Baltar asked, looking at the Cylon readouts. It meant little to him. "The energy source?"

"Nothing I recognize, Baltar. But these readings . . ." Lucifer paused as the instruments began to react in response to the wavelons diffusing into space. The power collecting within the surging mass of energy had to be mind-numbingly enormous. Something they couldn't even calculate. "The energy potential building up there is over twenty times that of our main power plant, and increasing. They make the Ravishol Pulsar look like a paltry pulse rifle," Lucifer offered.

"A weapon?" Baltar asked, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought of Adama turning them all to glowing plasma in the blink of an eye, if he indeed turned this weapon on the Base Ship.

With _him_ on it.

"Possibly. But then why is that transport flying towards it? And what is its origin?" Lucifer mused as the lone vehicle continued on a undeniable course for the mysterious mass. Curiously, the other Colonial shuttles—possibly survey teams—maintained their distance, which could be explained by an approaching comet, on a collision course with this planet. "Presumably, if it was a weapon, they would be turning it on us now. It must be something else . . ."

Baltar frowned. "The planet below. What class is it?"

"Preliminary scans read it as Delta Class, Baltar. Compatible with Human Life."

"Then . . . potentially they have a planet to settle, as well as having two Battlestars _and_ a Cylon Base Ship to defend it?" Baltar asked, his lips twitching with something approaching disbelief. "It can't be."

"Why not?" Lucifer asked. Baltar didn't know about the comet.

"Because Adama's blindly intent on finding his mystical Earth," Baltar returned sourly. "Nothing else seems to matter to him, Lucifer. He wouldn't stop until . . . unless . . ." His face lit in sudden realization. "Unless this _is _Earth!" Baltar crossed to the control panel. "Do a geotechnical scan of the planet. Full multi-spectral imagery spread, passive and intrusive. Is there any indication of Human life?"

"Wavelons-emitted-from-the-surface-are-interfering-with-our-scans." Moray replied.

"From the surface?" Baltar paced, turning abruptly. "There _must_ be civilisation down there! Anything capable of blocking out our scans indicates it can be no less! Let me take a task force and reconnoitre the planet."

"_You_?" Lucifer asked. It struck him as ironic that Baltar was asking to investigate a planet that would soon be inexorably altered by an impact with a comet. If this _was_ the mythical lost Colony called Earth, then surely the _Galactica_ and/or the _Pegasus _would be moving to destroy the comet, or at least attempting to alter its path. Possibly, the Human traitor was thinking of evading them on the surface, _if_ he could reach the surface. After all, they had been less than courteous since they had picked him up from his planet of exile. Then again, perhaps the thought of becoming allied with the Empire once again would persuade Baltar to further treasonous activities against his own kind. A study in Human behaviour. It would almost be worth the risk to do the experiment. It would certainly be most interesting to behold the outcome.

"I . . .I_ know _what to look for . . . where they would hide . . . how they could camouflage their existence. I know how they think, Lucifer . . ." Baltar explained, tapping his temple as he pled his case. "At the very least, we could follow the ion trails of the shuttles, and see where they've been." Baltar smiled maliciously. "And eradicate them, as well as any settlements."

Lucifer considered the request. It was certainly congruent with the edict of extermination. If nothing else, it would mean this mission wasn't a total loss.

"We're wasting precious time!" Baltar pointed out derisively. "Do I need to remind you that we have a Battlestar behind us?" He waved a hand at the scanners. The _Galactica _was drawing dangerously close, and soon her weapons would be in range.

All that time in exile and then solitary confinement, and Baltar had changed very little. "Very well, Baltar. Go."

"Reinstate my command." Baltar demanded.

"Of the task force, yes. Of this Base Ship, no." Lucifer temporarily granted him, watching the Human's face contort in annoyance, and then transform into sudden conniving delight. Baltar turned heel and left the Control Centre with a new spring in his step. _Interesting._ "Moray, assign nine Raiders to Baltar's command. Six are to break off and engage the Vipers, the others are to reconnoitre the planet, searching for any signs of Humans. If you find any, I want prisoners to interrogate. When that is done, exterminate any others that are found, including those on the shuttles."

"By-your-command." He relayed the orders to the duty patrol.

"Set a course for the energy mass. I want to discover the origin of this strange Human shuttle. Perhaps we should bring them aboard and ask them ourselves."

"And-the-_Galactica_?"

"Let me know if she gets within firing range. I calculate we can collect the unidentified shuttle, destroy the Colonial craft, evade the _Galactica_, and get back to Cylon in time for _Reptilis Revelry_."

XXXXXXXXXX

"_Next_ time we find a derelict Cylon Base Ship, remind me that I'm a Viper pilot, and _not_ a Bridge Officer. Okay?" Bojay muttered, his body tense with frustration as he watched the _real_ fight happening on the _Abaddon_'s scanners.

"I hear you, Bo," Dorado commiserated, as Malus continued to target Raiders with their batteries, while Cylon fighters swarmed the Vipers. As usual, the Colonials were holding their own, and now, with the IL's talents for sighting and destroying his own kind, the tide was beginning to turn.

"I should like very much to fly a fighter one day," Malus inserted suddenly. "Unfortunately, my experience has been limited to Base Ships." He obliterated another. "And, of course, planetside bases."

Dorado glanced at the Cylon, still having a difficult time rationalizing that they were permitting the cyborg to 'man' the weapons system, despite the fact that he had given them the edge they had needed to get the jump on the enemy. So far, his aim had been deadly accurate, and he had single-handedly destroyed Raider after Raider which continued to attack them, as though their commander's parting orders were to destroy the wayward IL and every Human aboard his ship at all costs. The accuracy of Malus' gunnery was astounding, and he couldn't help but wonder why most Cylon fire was generally so bad. Obviously, the IL knew something, and he was determined to find out what it was. In the future, they just might. . .

"Should we limp towards Planet 'P' and join the battle?" Bojay asked Dorado when it became clear they were winning. On the scanner, Cylon after Cylon simply disappeared from the grid, though some of the attacker's shots did get through. It was strange to watch a battle entirely by electronic means—with no bridge windows, as on a Battlestar or through a cockpit—but the interior position of the Base Ship's Command Centre necessitated it.

Dorado frowned. "The _Pegasus_ was supposed to stay in a position to defend the Fleet. With Sheba joining the _Galactica_, I think we'd better stay put, Bo. Just in case. That other ship may have called for reinforcements, before the shooting started. If any more Base Ships show up, we might be able to implement the same decoy trick twice. Cylons have a reputation for not being too quick about figuring out Human strategy and tactics."

"_Hmm_." Malus replied, affronted. He let it go, not bothering to point out his own creative contributions to the battle. Obviously, Humans were biased creatures, and it would take a while before they realized he was not a clunking, dim-witted, pre-programmed centurion, almost incapable of learning or adapting. Of course, he had to admit, Cylons were hardly renowned for their tolerance either, and the short time he had been among the Humans was hardly likely to erase such barriers. He would have to discuss what it would take to gain the Colonials' confidence with Starbuck, when he was reunited with the lieutenant again. Internally, something in his neural net clicked, and an optical impression of the brash, young man infused itself through his circuitry. It boosted his voltons. Illogically, he felt compelled to reunite with the warrior as soon as it was reasonably possible. There was so much he could learn from the Human. He discovered that he was 'excited' at the very prospect! Then he became excited about _being_ excited, for the very first time in his existence. It was both unexpected, and at the same time. . . well, he couldn't find a word for the state. Another thing he would need to learn from these Humans. Perhaps he was on the path towards evolving towards another life form? _More_ than a traditional Cyborg, with truly independent thought, and an ability to experience something in the realm of Human emotion! He felt 'happy', as he explored the possibilities. At least, he _thought_ it was happiness. It could just be a power cell was fluctuating, or a regulator was overloading. How to discern the difference? And did it really matter? "Overall, a sound tactical decision, considering, Captain Dorado. We must, of course, protect the Fleet. Every Human life is precious."

Malus ignored the silence as they all stared at him in bewilderment.

XXXXXXXXXX

One moment they were on approach to try and delay the incoming Base Star, the next Greenbean was flying for his life, kicking in his turbos and getting out of the way of the titan that seemed intent on cutting through them as though they were mere pests, instead of fightercraft. He fired just before banking away, and was gratified to see his shot strike the enemy vessel, sending up bits of metal and debris. However, the truth was that a small squadron of Vipers couldn't do much to stop a capital ship flying at flank speed, especially if it chose to ignore them.

"Greenbean! Raider on your tail!"

He immediately slammed his stick forward, taking evasive manoeuvres. He switched to rear scan just in time to see the Raider disappear on screen as his wingmate blew the Cylons into oblivion. "Nice shooting, Kyla!"

"Just doing my job," she replied breezily, but the pride in ensign's voice was clear. This was her first scramble, and her first kill.

"Okay, Blue Squadron Let's show these Cylons what we're made of!"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Commander, we now have a visual on the wormhole, sir!" Omega reported, putting the energy mass detected by their wavering scanners on screen. "The _Endeavour_ is on final approach."

"Lords of Kobol," Adama murmured as he regarded the furious mass of energy. In all his experience in space, he'd never seen anything at all like this bizarre phenomenon. "Position of the Base Ship in relation to the wormhole?"

"Commander, the Base Ship is barrelling ahead towards the wormhole, but she momentarily reduced speed to launch her fighters." Tigh informed him. "Their Raiders are engaging the Viper forces that were left behind on the planet." He paused. "Three Raiders are veering off towards the two shuttles in the planet's orbit."

Adama knew that Apollo wouldn't leave those shuttles undefended. Three Raiders were well matched by a couple Colonial Vipers. "Close on the Base Ship! We can't let them interfere with the _Endeavour_ getting through the wormhole!" Adama ordered, leaning forward. "Are we in firing range yet?"

"Thirty microns to effective range, sir," said Omega.

"Get me a firing solution on the Base Ship at once." He waited as Omega's fingers worked their tactical magic.

"On the board, sir."

"Range?"

"In range . . . _now_!" Tigh returned.

"_Fire!_ We have to stop her!" Adama roared.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Dick! If you're holding back at all, Captain, let her rip! That Base Ship is gunning for you, mister!" Dayton cried, watching the Cylon capital ship cross the expanse of space seemingly in the blink of an eye. _Man, she's fast!_

"I've got my pedal to the metal . . . so to speak," Dickins replied over the comm. "What about you guys? You're going to need to think about running for those Vipers soon."

"We have to close the portal first." Baker returned, glancing at the countdown. Thirteen centons. It would take them at least five to run flat out to the ships, and then to take off in a fighter they weren't all that familiar with, _and _clear the area of the comet's impact, with the resulting environmental changes affecting them, not to mention one hell of a shockwave . . . "We can't have the Cylons following you home."

"You don't actually think they'd try and follow, do you?" Dickins swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Through this?"

"If they do," Apollo returned confidently. "We'll be ready for them."

For a man so young, Apollo had a knack for conveying he was totally in control of the situation from a command standpoint, so his men could get on with just doing their jobs. He was much like Dayton in that sense. "Thanks for watching our butts, Captain. It's been a pleasure knowing you, Apollo. And sorry again about that arm . . ." Dickins told him, feeling slightly abashed he'd let his competitive instincts and temper get out of control during the hoverhockey game. He could feel the ship now being affected by the wormhole as they drew nearer. It was as though some sort of tractor beam had suddenly locked on them. It abruptly hit him that there was no going back. And he smiled.

_Eat your heart out, Dorothy, I've got the red ruby slippers now, and I'm going home!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"Cylons!" Boomer reported, watching the scanners as the Raiders zeroed in on them from behind. His scanner was beeping madly, warning him of a targeting lock. The Cylons had their number.

"Zeb . . ." Lia called over the comm.

"I'm on them!" Flight Sergeant Zebulon returned from his Viper. "Dive! Head for the cloud cover!"

"If you're not belted in, do it now!" Boomer roared back at the others as he poured on the speed, feeling the controls vibrate in his hands. He'd seen Starbuck take a shuttle to the max, and then push it just a little bit more. Yeah, there were documented limitations—the ones they beat you over the head with at the Academy—and then there was what a pilot could coax out of his bird in spite of Colonial recommendations. It was about having a 'feel' for your ship, or an instinct for survival, depending on how you looked at it. He hoped some of that infamous Starbuck Luck was transferable in these instances . . . especially considering his friend was lying helplessly in the back, hopefully strapped tightly to his biostretcher.

XXXXXXXXXX

Baltar smiled from the rear of the Raider as they drew closer to the first Colonial Shuttlecraft. "Instruct the other ships to destroy the Viper. Then attack the shuttle, but fire to disable her only. I want to interrogate her crew." He chuckled malevolently.

"We-have-orders-to-destroy-the-shuttle."

"Did Lucifer not put me in command of this task force?" Baltar raged.

"By-your-command. And-the-second-shuttle?"

Baltar adjusted his helmet as it squeezed his skull just a little too tightly. His smile slipped. The helmet was one of Lucifer's attempts to irk him, a lame attempt to give him the appearance of a centurion under the guise of safety and concern for his 'well-being'. When Baltar turned his head from side to side, it chafed his cheeks and ended up sitting cockeyed. As for the muted red light in the middle of his forehead, well, it just looked ridiculous. It reminded him of a target etched on his forehead. Well, he'd have the last laugh! "Disable her as well. If this is Earth, those transports are probably full of bureauticians. The more we take hostage, the better."

"By-your-command."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Captain, the _Galactica _has opened fire on the Base Ship," announced Raetic.

"What's our ETA?"

"Still. . .ten centons to effective range, ma'am."

"Damn . . . that's too slow!" She scowled, looking at the scanner. Her heart seemed to flutter as she saw how close the comet was drawing to the planet now. It was massive. "Raetic, talk to engineering. See if we can't edge it up a bit more."

"But we're. . ." began Raetic, but a look from Sheba stopped him cold. For a moment, she was the image of Cain, but it was all in her countenance. "Aye, ma'am."

She leaned over the command console, trying to estimate just how much time it would take for the _Endeavour_ to pass through the wormhole, then to close the portal, finally for Apollo, Dayton and Baker to get to their ships and launch. Her chest constricted. _Not enough time _. . .

"Ma'am, the engineer says we dare not go any faster."

"I never heard him say that to my father. Not once." Sheba returned, her gaze penetrating. _Of course, we weren't shot to pieces, either_

Raetic nodded, then spoke over his headset. He glanced back at her, "He can give you . . . _maybe_ four percent more."

"I want five, Raetic." Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from data screen to data screen. Her fingers flew across the keys as she calculated the necessary energy required to shift the trajectory on a mass the size of . . .

"Aye, Captain. Increasing speed. Revised ETA, seven centons."

"Excellent." She grinned. "Alter course, Gamma 2-6."

"But that will turn us about, putting us . . ."

"I know." She replied decisively as the Battlestar altered course. The comet sped closer to them, eclipsing all else in that line of view. She furrowed her brow as their instruments beginning to act erratically. _Not now_ . . . "Report, Raetic."

"Unknown energy, Captain. Emanating from a point above the planet."

"It must be the Dynamos." She nodded. Commander Adama had said that those on the planet needed to close the wormhole when the _Endeavour_ passed through it. Once the _Pegasus_ stopped detecting wavelons at that current radion level from the Dynamos, then they'd know for sure the men were heading for their ships. Relatively, it would be a long time coming. Too long. Unless someone or something intervened. "Standby all missiles to launch! I want a firing solution on the comet's head. Impact when the comet is perpendicular to the _Pegasus_." Only then did they have a hope in Hades hole of altering its course, even marginally. She could only hope it would be enough. She glanced out at the broad expanse of space in one direction, and the comet in the other. "I don't know if you're watching, but we could use a little help about now," she murmured under her breath. She didn't have the same vivid memories of the Ship of Lights Beings as Apollo and Starbuck, but she knew if there was ever a time for them to intervene for the sake of Humanity, that this was it.

"Attack computer calculating. Transferring data, Captain."

"Lock on." Sheba ordered. "Fire on my signal. Five, four, three, two, one . . ._ fire_!"

XXXXXXXXXX

"This is it, Hummer!" Dickins breathed, unable to prevent himself from pushing further back into his seat, as though it would give him an extra moment before he entered the tempest. The control panel was going ballistic.

"Did I happen to mention that I get hovermobile sick . . .?" Hummer hissed, his stomach muscles clenching in anticipation as he felt the _Endeavour_ begin to tremble. He could smell the sweat and fear rolling off of himself in waves. His body sank into his seat, and it felt as though he had a landram abruptly land on his chest with the sudden forces his body was subjected to. Glaring lights exploded in his face, blinding him completely, before everything went deathly black. Still the groaning of the _Endeavour_ filled his senses. Out of the blue, he found himself wishing he had set up some vid-feed to record the trip. As his control over his muscles began to ebb, he reached into his satchel, and tripped the switch on a portable scanner. He tried to hold it up, but his fingers lost control and it floated away. "_Frack_ . . ."

The ship was accelerating insanely, and the stressed metal shrieked in protest as the _Endeavour_ tore through the wormhole. Dickins' face contorted in a rictus of terror and agony. He looked down at the instruments . . . their speed was off the gauge, provided the instruments could even be trusted anymore. He could hear himself screaming, as a sickening wave of _deja vu _washed over him, just like before. Just like that horrible day when the _International Space Station_was blown to Hell. Then the last gasping breath was torn from his throat, and he could feel an impending haze descend upon him.

It couldn't come quickly enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Commander-Lucifer."

"Yes?"

"The-shuttle-has-disappeared." Moray reported.

"Disappeared, Centurion? Which one?"

"The-unidentified-one, Commander."

"Indeed. How, pray tell? Was it struck by one of our fighters?"

"No-sir. It-entered-the-perimeter-of-the-energy-phenomenon, Commander."

"It entered the . . ." Lucifer paused, gazing again at the nearby seething mass of energy, and calculating the likelihood that he was actually looking at what he had always considered to be a space anomaly. Bizarre, but nonetheless a natural occurrence. "Topological feature of space-time." As he pondered this unexpected turn of events, the ship rocked under him once more. He glanced down at the instruments. The _Galactica_ was closing in on him again, firing, and the _Pegasus _had turned about. "Report!"

"By-your-command. Severe-damage-reported-from-aft-batteries. Fires-reported-on decks-beta-through-epsilon, power-loss-in-sections-two-through-four."

"Seal off compartments and purge the oxygen from affected areas," Lucifer ordered, then looked back at the phenomenon. As he computed the numbers, it hit him. A wormhole. A portal. A shortcut through the very fabric of space-time, taking the Humans from here to . . . _where_? He could feel his diodes glowing warmly as he considered what it would take for a Human to launch himself into the unknown . . . Could this portal unlock the mystery as to the location of Earth? Given what he'd learned from Baltar, as to Adama's obsession with finding that planet, the Colonial's tenacity in defending it made it seem as if it were the only answer. No, Earth wasn't the planet that Baltar was reconnoitring, it was the one on the other side of the wormhole! He would have smiled, if he could have. It would secure him a position as one of the Imperious Leader's most trusted and distinguished officers, if he could report back to their mother world that he had destroyed Earth, or at least located it beyond all question. Adama's hopes, not only for his own people, but for these other Humans, would finally be crushed. "Follow the shuttle in, but launch a final squadron of Raiders first with orders to swarm the _Galactica_, and protect the Base Ship's escape at any cost. She won't follow us in and leave her precious Fleet." _Unless _. . . For a moment he had to wonder about the possibility that the Fleet had already made their way through the wormhole, but the likelihood of ships that couldn't reach lightspeed surviving that kind of journey was unlikely at best. And Adama—from all that Baltar had told him—wouldn't leave anybody behind, nor had there been signs of them scuttling any old scows. The Human population had to be tucked away somewhere safely, especially with both Battlestars nearby. Still, if he could destroy their destination and salvation, he would destroy Humankind.

"Commander-Lucifer, the-energy-produced-by-the-phenomenon-will . . ."

"I am aware of the risks, Centurion. Do as I say."

"By-your-command."

XXXXXXXXXX

"The _Endeavour_ made it, Adama!" Tigh exclaimed, eyes glued to the instruments. In a massive burst of radio energy, the shuttle had passed into . . .it. "She's through!"

Adama nodded soberly, wondering if they would come out the other end in the same shape they had entered. "May the Lords of Kobol go with you both," he murmured.

"Commander, the _Pegasus_ has fired her missiles!" reported Omega.

"What?" His brow furrowed as he snapped around. "Target?" She was out of range of the Base Ship by far.

"Towards the comet!"

Adama crossed to the scanner, watching in fascination as one after another the missiles struck the monolith, blowing chunks of ice and rock from the enormous comet. He shook his head. it was like throwing pebbles at an oncoming avalanche. "Keep alert. Watch for fragments."

No weapon they possessed could destroy such a giant as it bore down on Planet 'P', threatening not only the planet's existence, but his first-born son's. His _only_ son, now. It had been a noble thought on Sheba's part—and for obvious reasons of the heart—but most probably a waste of firepower. _Unless_ . . . unless he launched his _own_ missiles, hoping the impact would divert the comet's path. He ran the numbers through the computer. Given the comet's mass, velocity, and proximity to the planet, no deflection they could impart to it would make any difference at this trajectory. But even were it not so, he couldn't chance the Base Star escaping, if he hesitated to assist the _Pegasus_. Only God Almighty could help Apollo now. He sucked in a breath, suddenly realizing what Sheba had intended. _God helps those, who help themselves_. _As do the Ship of Lights Beings _. . . "Has the missile impact altered the comet's vector?"

Omega paused. "Marginally, sir. It's really too soon to tell . . ." His voice was optimistic.

Adama nodded curtly, feeling hope swell in his chest. "Keep alert." He watched another explosion flare against the huge space snowball. "Watch for fragments."

"Commander! The Base Ship! She's still bearing down on the wormhole, sir!" Omega reported.

"Lords . . . they wouldn't!" Tigh gasped, turning to look at the Commander. "Would they?"

Adama brusquely nodded. "They would if they figured out what it is. All batteries, lock onto the Base Ship. Fire!" He watched as the lances of energy flew out from the _Galactica. _Only half of them struck the Cylon ship. The energy of the wormhole was neutralizing their targeting scanners. Omega reported as much. "Very well. Standby to launch missiles!" Adama ordered. "Set them to track the heat from the Base Star's engines. And program an optical tracking backup."

"Done, sir," reported Omega a moment later. "First missile ready to launch."

"Launch!"

XXXXXXXXXX

It was a peculiar mixture of victory and loss that swept over Dayton as the_ Endeavour_ disappeared into the wormhole. It almost seemed as if his heart had stopped beating for a moment, but that couldn't be. Or could it? "Is there any way of knowing . . .?"

Baker shook his head faintly. "Not that I've figured out." He hesitated. "However, if she exploded . . ." He let out a deep, slow breath, the very idea repugnant to him in the extreme. "We'd get a peak in energy signature."

"All's nominal." Apollo replied, nodding encouragingly at the massive screen. "Or as nominal as wormholes get in my experience. Don't discount what Ama said. There are Beings far more advanced than us playing a part in what happens here."

"Maybe if they dropped by for tea and let us in on their overall plan for the universe. . ." Baker muttered.

Dayton clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes drawn to the Base Ship encroaching on the screen. "We'd better close that door, Bob. _Now_!"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Missile-approaching-from-_Galactica_." the pilot-centurion reported to his flight commander.

"Open-fire-and-destroy."

"By-your-command." Laser fire spat from the Raider, but instead of hitting the missile, the blue pencils of light missed by a wide margin. Shot after shot followed, but none came close to the missile. "Attack-computer-unable-to-lock-on-target."

"Is-it-a-malfunction?"

"No. There-is-some-form-of-interference-with-the-targeting-scanners. Unable-to-correct-for-the-distortion."

"Alter-course-for-the-missile. Intercept-and-destroy."

"By-your-command."

They raced towards the solenite-laden weapon on their suicide run.

The Base Ship shuddered yet again, as she moved forward, approaching the mouth of the wormhole. It was a swirling, writhing mass, the likes of which Lucifer had never seen before. He accessed the ship's library banks. Nothing in there seemed to correlate with this seething cauldron of unidentifiable energies.

"Report!"

"Aft-batteries-report-one-of-our-fighters-impacted-with-a-missile-at-close-range." Moray replied. "No-damage-sustained-to-Base-Ship."

"Then that was the concussion we felt. It _must_ have been close." Adama was desperate to keep him from pursuing! This _had_ to be a portal to Earth! "Seal all compartments and proceed." The ship began to shudder anew, this time from the energy of the wormhole drawing her in like an ancient sailing vessel into a whirlwind. The deck began vibrating ominously, the entire ship to bob like a piece of driftwood in a river. "Stabilizers to maximum."

"Gyro-stabilizers-one, six, and-seven-have-gone-off-line, Commander."

"What? How?"

"Unknown."

"Re-initialise them! Now! Spin them up, Centurion!"

"By-your-command."

"Commander, the missile was intercepted by a Cylon Raider!" Tigh exclaimed. "Total destruction."

"She's approaching the wormhole perimeter, Commander. And accelerating." They watched as the enemy vessel sped up, seemingly in hot pursuit of the _Endeavour_ As they watched, the Cylon began to visibly lose trim, wobbling like a child's top out of control. Omega scowled in annoyance at his board. Readings were getting harder to make by the micron. Still . . . "Should we fire another?" Omega asked.

The word had to be spat through clenched teeth in disgust. "_No._ If that missile missed the Base Ship, affected by the Dynamos' energy, I can't even imagine the damage it would do if it entered the wormhole."

"But sir . . ." Tigh began.

"It's up to Captain Apollo now," Adama reminded him. They still had a chance. The ground crew retained control of the wormhole. Or so he hoped.

"Okay people. We have a development," Baker muttered.

"Care to elucidate?" Dayton asked as he watched a series of numbers spitting out across the screen in relation to the comet.

"Seems the comet has changed course slightly, giving us some extra time." He paused to look up at the others. "She isn't going to land here and destroy the Base. Directly."

"Directly?" Dayton asked. "I'm taking it there's a 'but' in there, someplace."

"But . . . she'll hit about . . . three thousand kilometrons to the south, give or take. It's hard to say exactly."

"Why?" asked Apollo.

"Because the strike from the missile has not only deflected it slightly, but put a spin on it. Literally." He zoomed in on the comet's head. Sure enough, the cosmic missile was spinning erratically now.

"Well, if we've gained some time, that's good," said Dayton.

"Yes. In fact . . . uh oh."

"That sounds bad," frowned Dayton.

"The missiles from the _Pegasus_ did more than impart a spin to the comet."

"Go on."

"It's begun to fragment." Baker zoomed in further on the comet. Sure enough, the head was visibly beginning to break up.

"That's bad," remarked Dayton.

"Will any of the fragments hit us?" asked Apollo.

"There's . . . only a thirteen percent chance of a direct impact."

"Well, that's something I guess," said the Strike Captain, trying to sound optimistic.

"And there is a more than ninety percent chance of an impact within twenty to twenty five mil . . . uh, kilometrons.

"Like I said, that's bad," said Dayton.

"Thanks for the running commentary," replied Baker. "Even at that distance, the resulting force will likely destroy the Base anyway. Like a nuclear bomb, the likes of which we've never seen." He made a _kaboom_ sound, waving his arms in the air dramatically, in case the Colonial officer didn't understand. "I was actually thinking about diverting some of the Dynamos' energy to blast away at the comet, but it's not necessary now." He glanced on screen, replaying old data. "From the recorded satellite imagery I've got, I'd say the _Pegasus_ both helped us out, and complicated things."

Apollo nodded slightly, his features unreadable. _Sheba._ "All that aside, we need to stop that Base Ship. Baker, we over-energized the Dynamos at the pirate base to destroy them." They had taken a couple to research and analyse, but the remainder they had destroyed, Adama not wanting the technology to fall into Cylon hands. "If we do the same here, not only will we effectively close the door on the wormhole, we could destroy the Base Ship simultaneously."

"Probably. If she has already entered and field collapses suddenly enough, it could crush the Base Ship like a beer can under a truck. I just hope Dick is all the way through to Earth when it happens."

"How long will it take to over-energize the Dynamos though?" Dayton asked. "I recall it taking quite a while the last time."

"That's because they were dormant at the time. Can you do it?" Apollo asked, leaning forward as Baker started working his magic.

"Apollo's right, they're almost fully energized as it is. It should take only a few seconds. If I pick four of them part way through the helix . . ." Baker continued to input data.

"Are we still running for our birds when we're done here, or can we take a leisurely stroll?" Dayton threw out there.

"You won't see me for the dust . . ." Baker replied.

"I roger that."

XXXXXXXXXX

_CLANG!_

"What was that?" demanded Lucifer, as the sound and vibration rang through the Base Ship.

"Impact-with-comet-fragment, Commander," reported a centurion.

"Can you avoid them?"

_CLANG!_

"No."

"Centurion, reverse all engines! Take us out of this maelstrom!"

"Unable-to-comply, Commander. Reverse-thrust-will-not-engage."

"What?"

"Reverse-thrust-will-not . . ."

"I heard you the first time!" returned Lucifer. He looked at the screen. The wormhole yawned like a whirlpool, sucking them deeper into it. Only now, they were not the hunters, pursuing an enemy ship, but helpless prey, caught in the jaws of some immense cosmic devourer. "Engage all emergency power! All engines . . ." He was cut off by another smack from a chunk of the comet, then a panel erupted in sparks. Smoke began to choke the Control Centre. Then, perhaps mercifully, the forward images stopped, the screen going dead.

They were being sucked into the hideous thing, out of control and blind.

XXXXXXXXXX

Starbuck opened his eyes, feeling his body being dragged to one side. Something was wrong. They were supposed to be in space. But in space, you didn't get that G-force that felt as though it would throw you off your biostretcher, and paste you to the bulkhead. At least you weren't _supposed_ to. He glanced around, seeing everyone firmly strapped into their seats, looking tense, and leaning the same way as the shuttle banked. Not a good sign, but a great way to clear that excess sedation out of your system with a boost of adrenaline. "What's going on, Lu?"

"We have two Raiders on our tail." she replied nervously from across the aisle, pushing her hair back from her face. Even as she spoke, blue lances of energy streaked passed the shuttle, visible through the ports.

It was then he noticed that they were in the cloud cover. Boomer would be releasing decoy flares to confuse the Raiders' attack computers into detecting several extra targets. It was their only chance, other than a Viper escort. He moved to sit upward, anxious to look into the flight deck. A strap across his chest prevented his movement. Idly, he loosened it.

"Boomer said that if you even _try_ to get off that stretcher, he'll stuff you in a jump tube, and not let you out until we reach Earth." Luana growled at him.

"At least he cares," quipped Starbuck.

"I offered to help."

"I can't just . . ." Starbuck explained, sitting upward. Lia was fairly new, after all. Boomer could use his help . . . "_Lie_ here."

Abruptly, the shuttle shook as a laser blast connected. Several of the lights above quit, and he could smell smoke wafting from somewhere. A flutter beneath him testified to the gravity giving out. Thankfully, they were close enough to the surface. From the flight deck he could hear Boomer yell, "We're going down!"

_Just like Arcta _. . ._except you're strapped to a frackin' stretcher._

Then a further blast ruptured the hull, blowing a hole in the shuttle only a metron away from Luana, and shattering several of the windows. Her brown eyes were wide with shock and pain, then they seemed to flutter indecisively for a moment, before she slumped over in her seat. Lords, there was so much blood!

"Lu!" he cried, his guts wrenching. He jerked at the safety straps, freeing himself from the stretcher, and swinging his legs over the side.

"Starbuck! No!" The indistinct voice was carried away in the turbulence of the maelstrom.

The icy wind tore at the meagre attire he wore, as his bare feet hit the deck. The shuttle suddenly pitched in the opposite direction, and he tumbled to the deck, grunting as his forehead impacted with something unyielding. _Frack!_ The shuttle lurched again, and all of a sudden, he was lying on his back, his head throbbing dully. Blue sky was now visible through the ports. They were losing altitude fast. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was Luana's limp and bloodied form across from him. He rolled over, forcing himself to his knees. He shook his head against the encroaching dizziness, before crawling towards her. He _had_ to get to her, but it seemed to be up hill, all the way.

"Ten, nine . . ." Boomer's voice seemed so far away.

The shuttle levelled out, and Starbuck forced himself forward. A couple metrons felt like a kilometron. Finally, he reached her, wrapping his arms around Lu's waist, his head resting in her lap as he caught his breath. He wished he could stay that way forever. His body was aching. Exhausted. Unwilling to go further. He was finding it difficult enough just to breathe in a vortex of rushing air. But he _had _to know. "Lu . . ." he called hoarsely, reaching a hand towards her face, desperate to find out if she was still alive. "Answer me!"

Then there was a massive burst of light aft, and the shuttle lurched jarringly, tearing him cruelly from his wife before he had his answer. His protesting scream filled his senses, as she seemed to fall further and further away, each milli-centon drawn out dramatically and painfully. Unrealistically. Blissfully, when darkness fell, it was swift.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

_High-backed seats. _

Boomer had been in _two_ shuttle crashes now, and maybe it had a little something to do with the whiplash upon impact, and his brain bouncing from the back of his skull to the front, but suddenly equipping every Colonial shuttle with high-backed seats seemed like a damned good idea.

Which meant, of course, that they'd get around to it in about fifty yahrens, or so.

The startling redness of the emergency lights coming on in contrast to the pitch black brought him back to the here and now. They were on the opposite side of the planet, where it was still night. Just barely. He'd seen the terminator, coming down, just before the Raider had hit them. "You okay?" he asked Lia, who was already tearing her safety harness off in the co-pilot's seat.

"Fine. You?" she replied, already looking aft. She shook her head mutely. There was blood everywhere, most of it covering her sister. She cried out in shock.

"Go." Boomer waved her on, pulling at his own harness. He stumbled to his feet, feeling dizziness hit him, and he gripped the back of the inadequate seat to steady himself. "Frack . . ."

There was a hole blown in the side of the shuttle where a crewman had previously been sitting. _Poor bastard_. Cables and paraphernalia were hanging from the ceiling. Dr. Paye and Cassiopeia were releasing an insensate Luana, gently guiding her to the deck. Chameleon and Dietra were leaning over Ama who also appeared unconscious, though still secured in her seat. Oddly, her hair appeared whiter, and her skin almost translucent. It had to be the light, or lack thereof. Ryan and Porter were gazing out the gaping hole into the blackness beyond.

Porter nodded at Boomer. "You okay?"

"Yeah," said Boomer, wiping a warm trickle of what had to be blood from his forehead. He looked over at the stretcher, and . . . that's when it hit him. The empty stretcher. The bloodied tubes that were strewn across the deck.

"Where's Starbuck?"

XXXXXXXXXX

It had happened only a micron or two after they had shot up the shuttle. One moment, Baltar was recalculating his plan, and the next, he was clinging to his seat for dear life as the Raider followed the shuttle down in a death spiral.

"We-have-been-hit." the centurion droned, far too monotone and dispassionate for Baltar's liking. "Attitude-thrusters-not-responding. Losing-altitude."

The last words he would ever hear would be the clinical analysis of Cylons counting down until his death. "Do something!" Baltar screamed, his eyes wide with fear. How could his plan go so completely wrong when he was so close? Had the Lords so totally abandoned him?

_Considering how you sold out your own people, and caused billions of deaths, it is possible_.

"Counting-down-until-impact." the centurion replied. "Five, four, three. . ."

"_No_!" screamed Baltar.

Then the ship's nose inexplicably lifted, and he was thrust upward, like a marionette being jerked by his strings. Lightening cracked around them, and he wasn't certain if the crashing noise that he heard was the ship going down, or the elements, or possibly both. A strange surge of energy passed through the traitorous Human. It was exhilarating, yet terrifying, all at the same time.

Then his bones were jarred from head to toe, as the Raider hit the ground.

XXXXXXXXXX

The Base Ship shuddered, and began to groan. Baltar would probably equate the ominous sounds with the souls of the dead lamenting from the underworld, had he been there. But the Human had once again proven himself to be a survivor. Lucifer _had_ found it entertaining that he had left the man behind reconnoitring a planet about to be impacted by a comet. Baltar, it seemed, would have the last laugh. If only it wasn't already ringing through his auditory conductors.

Without the benefit of scanners, Lucifer really couldn't tell what was happening, but every other reading was telling him that his only chance at survival was to flee his ship . . . two centons ago.

They were losing structural integrity, as both the energy of the wormhole sluiced over the ship, and as pieces of the fragmenting comet impacted the hull. Even as he turned to look at a status display, they were hit again. A landing bay door was hit, crushed by the impact. Cables and control systems were ripped out by the debris. System by system was failing. Flames leapt from a control panel. For an instant, flame retardant shot from the overhead system, then noisily sputtered out. The ship's hull twisted and wailed as an impossible force crushed them from all directions. It would only be milli-centons before the reactors were breached and then . . .

The ship rumbled from deep within.

"Oh oh." said Lucifer.

He knew that the end was near. It was then that he, Lucifer, IL Group Cylon, loyal servant of the Cylon Alliance, IL Series number IL-6475836254785/HGDJ-373764, Commander of a Base Ship and confidant of the Imperious Leader himself, made a fateful decision. Long exposed to the vile, bizarre, repugnant and often cowardly behaviour of Baltar, he took the only viable option.

"Centurion, come with me."

He would get the Hades Hole out of here, while he still had a chance.

XXXXXXXXXX

"By the Lillium Moons . . ." Chameleon rasped, grasping Ama's hand. His eyes darted from his bloodied and supine daughter-in-law, to the hole that his son had disappeared through, then back to the necromancer. Ama looked dead. Her skin appeared tissue fine and almost translucent, and seemed cooler than usual. Only the occasional breath reassured him she was still with them. "Wake up, Ama! _Please_!"

"Chameleon, what happened?" Boomer asked, as Paye and Cassiopeia examined Luana. The young woman was splattered with blood, but her head was lolling as she came around. At least she was alive.

The conman swallowed before replying, still holding tightly to Ama's hand. "The crewman sitting just down from Luana. He . . ." He shook his head, the sight still vivid in his mind of the hull exploding behind the unfortunate crewman who had chosen to ride with them. He didn't even know the young man's name. Chameleon waved towards the hole again. "He's gone."

Boomer gripped the older man's hand, holding it tightly and looking into his eyes. He remembered where Desmarais had been seated, and could only imagine what a blast that could breach the shuttle would do to a man. The evidence of his violent demise was splattered around the cabin, some of it on the shaken occupants. It would have been quick, at least. But now was the time to account for the living, not to lament the dead, at least for a Colonial Warrior. That would come later. "What happened to _Starbuck_?"

"I . . . I . . ." Chameleon shook his head helplessly, waving at the hole.

Boomer closed his eyes for a moment, as a vice gripped his chest. A career of flying and carousing with his buddy seemed to flash before his eyes. That familiar smile and diabolis-may-care attitude. So many good times to remember, so many bad times overcome . . . or slept off. "I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing Chameleon's hand again as tears that had flooded the old blue eyes now trickled down his cheeks. Boomer looked away, knowing that if he didn't, he would be joining the father in his grieving, and this simply wasn't the time.

"No, I . . ." Chameleon shook his head, unsure of what he saw, and whether to believe it. Only Ama could explain it, or verify it. It was . . . too bizarre for words.

"Starbuck . . ." Luana murmured, as she glanced around the downed shuttle.

"You're alright, Luana." Cassie murmured, applying a cryo-pack to the bump on the back of her skull. "You have a few contusions and a mild concussion, but otherwise . . ."

"Where's Starbuck?" Luana asked, then looked down at her blood-splattered uniform and hands. She repeated the question, a note of desperation creeping into her voice, especially when they refused to meet her gaze, or looked sadly towards the hull breach. "_No_!" She tried to crawl towards the rip in the hull, but both Lia and Cassie held on to her.

"He was trying to reach you, Luana . . ." Cassie blinked back tears, as Paye moved over to examine the necromancer. "He thought . . . we _all _thought that you . . ." She swallowed. A single tear escaped as she met Chameleon's brimming eyes.

Luana shook her head vehemently. "I don't believe it! He _can't_ be dead." Her voice broke. "I'd know if he was. I'd _know_ . . ." Tears flooded down her cheeks as she struggled to rise to her feet. Her fists were clenched at her sides. "He can't be gone. He _can't_."

Lia followed her sister, like a dancer moving in sync as the young woman turned indecisively, unsure where to turn, what to do next. The horror of the blast was all around them, blood and tissue fragments splattered in all directions. Luana seemed to tremble from head to toe, her hands rising to cover her face. On all sides were sympathetic gazes, but instead of offering comfort, they were suffocating her.

Lu closed her eyes, shutting them all out. "He's _not_ . . ." Her voice cracked again.

Lia gathered her younger sister to her, holding her tight, waiting as the tension that had Lu strung as tight as an Empyrean crossbow finally lapsed, and the slender shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.

"Is _Ama_ alright?" Ryan asked Paye, glancing sympathetically at Luana.

"Yes." Paye replied with a frown. "But I don't understand it. Her heart rate is a quarter of what it should be. Her respiratory rate is only three breaths per centon, and shallow at that. I don't understand why she isn't cyanotic by now. " He ran his biomonitor over her for the second time, shaking his head in wonder. "But I can't find anything physically wrong with her. No fractures, no internal injuries, hardly more than a few scratches." He shook his head again.

Lia glanced at her Godmother, nodding slightly. "She's in a trance." She let out a breath, smiling slightly. "She walks afar from her body."

"_What_ does that mean, exactly?" Ryan asked sceptically. _Any more of this mystical crap and I'm either gonna get religious, or go get drunk!_

"That Starbuck might not be dead."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Recall almost complete. Vipers landing in both bays, Commander."

"Thank you." He replied quietly.

A blue, luminescent, enigmatic helix, stretching on for what had to be several times the length of a Battlestar, the wormhole appeared to disappear abruptly, as though it was carried on in another dimension, or at least another time-space continuum. Once it had swallowed up the Base Ship, as well as a couple wayward Raiders, it appeared so harmless. Almost beautiful. Much like a mysterious nebula, yet to be explored. Adama stared at it quietly, holding his breath.

If the Base Ship made it through the wormhole, instead of saving Humankind on Earth, he could have very well destroyed the planet they were all hoping to call home one day. But he had been led to believe that all of this was part of some overall plan, some incredibly important step in the divine scheme to reunite the brothers of man far across the universe. _Dear God _. . .

"Adama!" Cain cried.

The sudden explosion blinded him, and instinctively Adama turned his head as a million lights flashed in his brain. "Positive shields now!" he ordered. He grasped the rail on the command level for support as the deck heaved up and down beneath him, blinking as his eyes slowly began to adjust. He ordered the blast shield opened, and they all looked towards the planet. It was as it had been before. "Report!"

It was microns before anybody responded.

"Re . . ."

"Power signature from the wormhole . . . zero! It's gone, Commander!" Athena reported.

"Gone?"

"Yes, sir. No residual radion, nothing. The space around the planet is clear of . . .whatever it was."

"Damage report."

"Fleet comm-line Alpha is off-line," said Omega. "Switching to the low-gain emergency circuit. One exterior hull camera is down as well."

"We're fortunate that's all," remarked Cain.

"Sir, I'm picking up some debris." Omega added.

"Identity?"

"Spectro reads it as Cylon, sir."

"They did it, Commander!" Tigh exclaimed. Proof positive that the Base Ship had been destroyed before passing through the wormhole.

"As if there was any doubt . . ." Cain blustered with a grin. He sat down wearily at a station, looking as though his stubborn vigil had cost him.

"See if you can raise the Base on Planet 'P'" Adama ordered.

"Yes, Sir."

"Commander, more fragments from the comet are breaking off, coming towards us."

"Estimated time to impact?"

"Two centons."

"Are our Vipers aboard?"

"Yes, sir."

"Evasive manoeuvres, Omega." He looked over at Cain, then back to Athena as the helmsman carried out the order. "The Base?" Adama asked insistently.

"Control Base not responding, father." Athena replied. She turned to meet his eyes. "They must be on their way to their ships."

"_Pegasus_ coming in on communicator, Sir." Omega told him.

"Commander. Permission to set a course for the other side of the planet, and rendezvous with our warriors." Sheba asked briskly.

The young woman's face readily displayed the mixed emotions she had to be feeling right now. Though she had managed by the grace of God to divert the comet's path, giving them all a little more time, the air space above the planet would within centons be plummeted by the first of the comet's fragments, increasing the risk for all their warriors. Adama nodded briefly. "Granted."

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

"I know that, Captain." Adama glanced over at Cain, who nodded at him gratefully. The _Galactica_ commander glanced back at Tigh. "Get us out of here, Tigh. The quickest course to avoid the worst of the comet fragments, and ultimately rendezvous with the _Abaddon_ Ship."

"Yes, sir."

Like Death's own scythe, the comet loomed on screen racing towards the planet.

XXXXXXXXXXX

_Get up!_

The warning rang through his brain, but opening his eyes was simply impossible. He felt as though he had been bodily plugged into a power cell, every nerve ending tingling and his muscles twitching randomly and painfully. If something didn't hurt, then it was numb. Either way, he felt awful. Plain and simple.

_Move!_

The voice was familiar, but seemed so far away. Which probably made it easier to ignore, in retrospect. Still, once again, Starbuck tried to open his eyes. The sun barely peaking out from the horizon stared back at him, congratulating him on his success. He gasped as his body convulsed again. At least he had the presence of mind this time to realize it was from probably the cold.

Somehow he had come to be lying in a pool of water. From the way it was rising and ebbing along the length of his body, he was likely on the shore's edge. But how in Hades' half hectare had he ended up there? The last thing he remembered was being torn from Luana, and then sucked into a vortex that didn't resemble any kind of reality he had ever experienced . . . even on far too much ambrosia.

This time the water lapped at his hairline, chilling him anew. The tide was obviously coming in. He had to get out of the water. Find shelter. Get warm. Put his scrambled thoughts in some kind of order. An attempt to merely lift his arm had his right side shaking uncontrollably for long, suffering microns. Groaning, he willed the trembling muscles to relax. Finally, the twitching stopped. The water surrounded him entirely on this pass. He shivered again in the cold, trying to make some sense of all this. He let his eyelids drift closed, trying to come up with a viable plan. It was a lot of effort.

_Wake up!_

Then a rumbling in the sky, and a subsequent scream of twisting metal jerked him rudely back to consciousness.

XXXXXXXXXX

His heart was pumping so hard it felt as though it would jump through his chest. _C'mon, Mark! Quit trying to be eighteen again! _Dayton scrambled up the Viper, dumping himself ungracefully into the cockpit, before reaching for his helmet. He starred at the Colonial console before him and froze. It looked like late seventy's sci-fi at its cheesiest.

"Lower canopy. Then start engines. One, two, three." Apollo's voice came over the helmet comm.

Dayton sniffed as his chest heaved. It would figure that the Colonial captain would have the presence of mind to know that two old codgers who weren't that familiar with the fighter, might appreciate a little coaching on how to get the damn thing started, after a sprint through the caverns of the base which had left him breathless and brainless. Of course, he wasn't exactly clueless when it came to fighters, he reminded himself. He'd flown the most advanced stuff on Earth, as well, he and Starbuck had gone a round or two in the simulator back on the _Galactica, and__ he had flown the fighter here.__But with his heart about to burst through his ribcage, and a comet bearing down on him, the old grey matter apparently needed to be jumpstarted. _

"Fire turbos. One, two, three."

Dayton could feel mutant butterflies performing strafing runs on his stomach in sync with the growing whine of the engines. Any minute now, they would start to see fragments from the comet. If he and Baker didn't get the hang of the scanners pronto, then they'd be slammed by several million tons of ice and rock. They might anyways. He looked up at the sky through the canopy, and saw the vapour trail of the first piece of debris to penetrate the atmosphere. It was headed towards a range of hills to the south, well away from here. But when the big one reached the ground, that wouldn't matter.

"Grab the stick and engage thrusters."

Dayton smiled, as the captain managed to sum up flying the most sophisticated fighter plane that he had ever laid eyes on in less than thirty seconds of instruction. _Vipers 101. For Dummies_. He paused, looking up to see another blazing trail of incoming debris, then glanced over at Baker's bird. "Go, Bob."

"Boldly going where no butcher, baker or candlestick maker has gone before . . ." Baker murmured, just before his Viper began to lift off. She got up to about twenty feet on her Vertical Takeoff and Landing thrusters, then nosed up, and took off at blinding speed. He whooped with delight.

Dayton hit the button, feeling himself slam into the seat as his fighter quickly climbed towards his friend. From his peripheral vision, he could see Apollo taking up position on his left. They left the area of the base behind, screaming across country like the proverbial bat out of hell.

"Scanners picking up multiple incoming fragments." Apollo reported. Off to his own left, the captain could see multiple entry trails, as more and more pieces of the comet screamed through the atmosphere. There was a flash, as one impacted the surface. "Let's keep a wide berth . . ."

"And get out of here." Baker added.

"Engaging." Dayton responded, all business now, as the three fighters kicked in thrusters, and climbed for space, chasing the setting sun.

XXXXXXXXXX

Baltar groaned, jerking his helmet off, and dumping it on the deck of the Raider. The barest glint of sunlight was filtering in through the side windows, but it was enough to make him realize that the centurions in front of him had crumpled like tin cans with the impact of the crash landing. One was crushed between the other and the forward panel, the second had its head bent back, and seemed to be staring at him upside down.

_How very appropriate._

The fighter was pitched forward, her nose likely buried. Smoke and that burnt electrical odour filled the cockpit. Remarkably, he seemed to be unhurt, beyond a few bruises and a spinning head. As his head cleared, Baltar recalled the inexplicable sensation of energy passing through him, just before the ship hit the surface. The nose had lifted ever so slightly. Truth be known, it was all a bit confusing. How had he managed to survive, when the front of the fighter had been so completely destroyed?

A sudden spark from the ravaged console made him jump. Abruptly remembering that whatever remained in the ship's fuel cells could still ignite, he scrambled to undo his harness and escape the fighter, before it became a fiery grave. Gravity being what it was, he pitched forward, grunting as he dropped onto a deactivated centurion. He regained his balance and began the upward climb to the rear of the fighter. A survival pack that he had hastily assembled was the only thing he grabbed as he squeezed through a hatch that was partially open, for no apparent reason. He dropped to the ground, and scurried away from the fighter, pausing to reflect once again that it was unbelievable he had lived through the crash.

The sunlight seemed to grow a little bit brighter as Baltar stared back at the still-smouldering Raider. Sure enough, she was embedded in the soft surface. Sand. He looked down at his feet, then back up. The sea! He was on a beach, and the surf was washing against the wreck, raising puffs of steam from the still-hot engines. For a moment he gazed in wonder at the rising sun reflecting off of the ocean, breathing in the smell of the salt air, and experiencing the miracle that he was still alive.

_It's no miracle. _

"Who said that?" Baltar snapped, spinning around, and dropping his pack. He cursed himself that he hadn't thought to grab a pulse-rifle as he fled the Raider. He turned to head back and rectify this oversight, when something caught his eye. Immediately, he spotted a . . . he squinted in the dim light . . . a _body_! It was lying in the water only twenty or so metrons down the beach. Baltar took a step towards the still form, then paused, waiting for some sign of life.

There was none . . . at least at this distance, which wasn't exactly conclusive.

His first instinct was to ignore it, to walk the other way. What possible point would there be in getting closer? The practically naked man had probably died from some rare and horrible contagious disease. His tribe—assuming he had one—had cast him out to die in the elements. The fates would conspire thus just to mock Baltar. No, he had no intention of exposing himself to the same hideous pestilence.

Still, he hesitated as he gazed down the isolated beach. He had been alone, without the presence of a fellow Human, for so very long. His exile on Adama's cursed planet had given him far too much time to think. And while it went against his nature, he almost felt a tiny little bit contrite about the role he had played in the Destruction of the Colonies. He reached up into the Raider, and found the rifle. Better yet, he decided, trying to keep his mind off his sense of guilt, better grab all three. But even as he slung them over his shoulder, he couldn't shake it. He liked to think about it as his "developing epiphany", not comfortable with accepting any uncharacteristic changes in his personality at this point in his life.

_Life is change._

Baltar startled again, whirling around in a circle, this time looking for the physical form of a woman. Her voice seemed to echo in his mind. An image of wild, white hair and piercing grey eyes, with hideous gapped teeth, superimposed itself on his mind. Still, physically she eluded him. He shook his head, gazing back at the figure on the beach, and then chuckled aloud. "I'm _beyond_ redemption." He raised his arms dramatically, shouting to the heavens. "Do not even try!"

A quiet groan from down the beach was his only reply.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cautiously and ever so slowly, Baltar made his way down the beach, the tide gently filling his footprints behind him, eliminating any trace of his tracks. A more cerebral, perhaps philosophical, man—or a man with too much time on his hands—might interpret that particular symbolism as his past being erasable, and his future as yet unwritten. Behind him lay a smouldering, twisted Cylon Raider, and before him a Human in need of help. It really should be obvious. Maybe that was his difficulty with it. It was _too_ obvious. As though he was somehow being set up. Or manipulated.

The story of his life.

Not since he had encountered the evil Count Iblis had he felt so completely baffled, yet suspicious, about what was happening both to him, and behind his back. The "witch" that he had seen in his mind and heard so clearly seemed to be leaving him alone for the moment, perhaps waiting to see what he would do of his own accord. He didn't sense any malevolence from her, quite the opposite in fact. It was as though this was some kind of test of his Humanity. He frowned, pausing mid-step.

What if . . . what if he was dead after all? What if this was a final chance to prove that he, Baltar, was worthy to enter the Great Hereafter? Could they be giving him one more chance? Could the time he spent considering his culpability and guilt while in exile be considered his groundwork for redemption? Was it possible?

Was there even really anything, after this life? And if there was, what if . . .

Despite the warmth of his cloak, a shiver ran down his spine. He turned once again, gazing back at the Raider, its shadow sharp now in the rising sun. If he went back there now, would he see his own body trapped within, his eyes opened wide in terror for all of eternity? He took a step back, then stopped abruptly, certain he couldn't bear the sight. It would drive him mad. He didn't _want_ to know. Not that badly.

_You're being ridiculous! Get a grip on yourself! It was just your imagination. The result of a bump on the head. You knew that despicable helmet was useless!_

He took a deep, steadying breath to ground himself back in reality. Then he nodded, and glanced at the soaking wet man once again. Who was he, and how had _he_ come to be here? There was no trace of a spacecraft. He certainly hadn't fallen from the sky! Shipwrecked at sea and washed ashore? One of the locals that he had suspected existed here? That was the most likely possibility. Yes, there _was_ a settlement of Humans somewhere on this planet. Beyond question, there had to be. That gave him a glimmer of hope. People that didn't know him.

Yes, the more that he thought about it, the more sense it made. That strange craft that had headed for the energy source, protected by the Colonials, had to have originated from this planet. Obviously, they were a technically advanced culture, not a bunch of rock-thumping primitives. Somehow, they _were_ allied with Adama. Inevitably though, the Colonials would move on in search of Earth.

Now that Baltar was close enough, he could clearly see the evidence of a small amount of blood on a universally Health Centre-styled gown that was thin, tattered, and wrapped around the young man in such a way to provide a modicum of modesty, but little else in the way of protection. Shivers wracked the man's body, and he seemed oblivious to Baltar's presence, at least from a few metrons away. He sucked in an audible breath and then grunted aloud as he strained, his hands clawing at the sand, and his heels digging into the soft surface. His body shook with the exertion. He coughed, loudly enough to be heard over the surf. For a moment he lifted his head a few centimetrons, obviously exerting all the energy he had left, trying to move. Concentration was etched on his features, his teeth gritted. For a long centon, he struggled to move limbs that obviously refused to cooperate. Was it permanent damage, Baltar wondered idly as he watched with a detached interest. A loud groan of frustration escaped the young man's lips before he collapsed into the water once again, having gained nothing. His teeth began to chatter from the cold of the surf, and his lips had an unmistakeable tinge of blue to them as he gasped for breath, spent from his efforts.

Absolutely helpless. Hypothermia setting in. Even someone as untutored in things medical as Baltar could see that.

Baltar sniffed at the irony. When had he last been in a position to be considered someone's _hero_? It was almost amusing that the Traitor of the Twelve Colonies of Man could become this youngster's champion by merely pulling him out of the surf and warming him up! Well, he could do with someone following him around, hero-worshipping and adoring him for saving a life, especially if the two of them were to remain here together for any substantial time before the young man recovered, and the Colonials—the only ones who could identify Baltar—moved on. Human companionship. While once it had seemed redundant and unimportant, sectars alone on a planet, and then solitary confinement on Lucifer's Base Ship, had changed that. A grateful, young acolyte would be the perfect companion with which to set off to find whatever civilisation was out there on this forsaken rock. Baltar could start anew.

That decided, he dropped his weapons and pack on the dry sand, and then moved behind the young man, gazing down at him. His hair was wet and shaggy, and his face had a couple days growth of beard, and was partially covered in sand. There was some swelling around one eye, and bruising to what was revealed of his torso, as if the fellow had been injured recently. Actually, the bulk of a bandage also showed beneath the thin material. That explained the blood. As Baltar's shadow fell across the other, he gazed up in mute bewilderment. He blinked his eyes, and then shook his head slowly, as if in his final centons, he couldn't believe that assistance had actually come.

"I'm here to help." Baltar offered with a friendly smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Report!"

"Telemetry on the second shuttle indicates she was hit, Captain," said Raetic, eyes to the scanners. "By Cylon fire."

"And?" asked Sheba. The first shuttle had managed to avoid being hit, thanks to her Viper escort. Two of the fighters would be escorting their charge to the _Pegasus_. They'd rendezvous in less than twenty centons. The third was narrowing in on the downed shuttles' position.

"She made it down. At least, I'm picking up the short-range emergency locater beacon."

Sheba nodded in relief, hoping it didn't show. "Any other transmissions, Raetic?"

"Just the automatic beacon, ma'am. No response on any channel."

"Keep trying . . ." she returned. The scanners had cleared once the wormhole had exploded, taking the Cylon Base Ship with it. But she had yet to pick up Apollo's Viper. Several of their systems had yet to re-boot, so maybe . . . _Where are you?_

"It's going to be a challenge, ma'am." Sheba turned towards Raetic, her eyebrows raised in question. "Scanners show a large weather system moving into the crash area. High winds, accompanied by heavy electrical activity."

"Time to storm?"

"Approximately . . . a centar, ma'am. But by then the atmosphere is going to be filling with so much debris, we'll be practically blind anyway."

"Have a shuttle prepped."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the other, relaying the order to the Bay. A light began blinking on his screen.

"Well?" demanded Sheba, trying to keep her anxiety down to manic levels.

"Picking up another signal, ma'am. A weak one. From the planet's surface."

"Who?"

"It's Cylon, ma'am."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Oh my God," breathed Adama, as the still-fragmenting comet finally impacted the planet's surface at over eighty thousand kilometrons per micron. The bulk of the head had at last entered the atmosphere, just as the Vipers had made it out of the area. He watched as the fiery space missile burrowed deeper and deeper into Planet 'P's atmosphere, until it had nowhere else to go.

With a flash like an exploding fusion warhead, billions of tons of rock and ice were converted into energy. As he watched, a huge ball of fire erupted like an insanely bloated volcano, rising higher and higher into the air, spreading ever wider as more and more of the planet's surface was vaporised.

"Did they make it out of the impact zone?" asked Tigh, turning to Omega. _Lords! if they didn't_

"Yes, sir," said Omega, visibly relaxing as the data came in. "Picking up telemetry on all of them, Colonel."

The fireball was now almost ten kilometrons wide, and over twenty up into the sky. Huge chunks of flaming debris were being flung even higher, as the destruction spread ever further. Omega concentrated scans onto the impact, zooming in.

"It's ripping into the crust," said Tigh. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Nor I," said Adama. "Continue recording data, Omega."

"Yes, Commander."

XXXXXXXXXX

_Jesus H. Christ on a raft!!_

Dayton knew the comet had collided with the planet by the way his ship reacted, lurching from its flight path as the leading edge of the first shock wave hit him. Whatever was happening down there on the ground, hundreds of miles away, had to be akin to a monumental nuclear explosion, for the winds to shift so suddenly and violently at this distance. He could hear something pelting his ship, but presumed it was small and benign. At least, he _hoped_ so. He gripped his stick with both hands, trying to steady her, and wondered if Apollo and Baker were having the same trouble.

"I was hoping to stay in the atmosphere until we made it to the other side of the planet, but not in _this_." Apollo inserted, his voice tense. He checked his scanners aft. A huge fireball was already rising over the horizon, as were the winds heading their way. While he thought it would probably dissipate somewhat before reaching them, he wasn't going to take any chances. "Let's get out of here. Be on the lookout for comet fragments. They'll be coming in hot."

"I thought these _were_ fragments." Baker commented.

"The fragments that broke off from that comet in space will be a lot bigger than this. This is just debris kicked back up into the atmosphere from the impact." Apollo explained. "My scanners are already having trouble locking on anything. It's like flying through soup."

Dayton shook his head, thinking about the incredible array of life that had just been destroyed in the blink of an eye. He pulled back on his stick, following the strike captain's lead. The fighter soon stopped shuddering as his Viper gained altitude.

Abruptly, a perimeter alarm sounded and with a glance at his control panel, Dayton jerked his stick to the right. A blast of laser fire flashed on his left, and his Viper shuddered once again. He could hear the sound of something pelting his canopy. _Orange_ laser fire. "What the . . .?"

"Nice shooting!" Apollo called out. "Dayton, are you okay?"

Dayton looked over his controls, shaking his head. He'd just been fired on. By a _Viper_. "I think so. What the hell happened?"

"Sorry, Commander. A piece of debris was about ready to squish you flatter than a griddlecake," a voice replied.

"I didn't even see . . ."

"I'm not surprised, sir. It was coming from behind you. You wouldn't have seen it with your forward scanners on."

Dayton blinked. Speaking of the blink of an eye . . . "Thanks, uh . . .?"

"Lieutenant Greenbean, sir." He replied. "We're just glad you got out of there in one piece. Happy to do my part to make sure you stay that way."

"All part of the service. Right, Greenbean?" Apollo commented, before adding, "Report."

"I'm sure you know that the Base Ship was sucked into the wormhole, Captain. Presumably destroyed. We've been picking off any surviving Raiders, but it's getting a bit murky up here, with all the interference from comet's debris."

"What about our shuttles?"

"Boomer's bird went down, Captain, hit by a Cylon, but her locator beacon has kicked in. Zebulon was following him down, last I heard. The other shuttle is rendezvousing with the _Pegasus_."

"The _Pegasus_?"

"Yes, sir. The _Galactica_ is rendezvousing with the _Abaddon_ and our other squadrons."

"Then let's go find the _Pegasus_, and see if we can be of any help with the rescue. Dayton? Baker?"

"On your six, Captain," replied Dayton. "Lead the way." Dayton fell in behind Apollo, and spared a look back at the planet. Chunks of comet were still entering the atmosphere, and a brief scan showed him the utter obliteration going on down below. Talk about all hell breaking loose! The massive impact fireball was still casting flaming junk high, some of the huge chunks just beginning to arc their way back down towards the surface to impact hundreds, even thousands of miles from the initial impact site. Idly, he wondered if any life would survive on this planet for long.

_Beep._

Or himself, as a Cylon suddenly appeared, heading straight for his tail.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Baltar_?

The sun was shining in his eyes, half-blinding him, almost convincing him that it couldn't be. It was like being trapped in a terrible dream as the traitor leaned closer, until there was no doubt as to his identity. Feeling Baltar grip him under the arms, Starbuck tried to fight him, but between his blood loss, injuries, the numbing cold and whatever _else_ had happened to him when he had been sucked into that whirlwind of energy and dropped onto this beach . . . well, he felt as weak as a newborn felix. He couldn't even get his teeth to stop chattering so he could blast Baltar with some specially reserved vocabulary from his earlier days. Instead, it came out as incomprehensible mumbling. Desperately, he tried to get his feet under him, but it was as though his limbs were not his own. He was dragged along against his will, but when Baltar finally lowered him onto the comparatively warm and dry sand behind a natural barrier of sun-bleached logs, protecting them both from the wind that seemed to cut through him, he couldn't help but sigh with relief.

"Better?" the traitor smiled, undoing his cloak and lying it over comfortingly over Starbuck.

All he could manage in reply was a rasping groan, as his recently wounded shoulder burned with pain at being manhandled.

The Viper pilot closed his eyes tightly, his fingers curling around the cloak, instinctively pulling it up to shield his face from Baltar's searching gaze. Surely, the traitor had recognized him? Then again, maybe not. He wasn't exactly looking his usual best. This certainly wasn't the customary treatment that the Betrayer of Mankind usually afforded Colonial Warriors. What exactly was Baltar up to? And what in Hades hole was he doing _here_? A personal invitation from the demons of Hades Hole to cap off his wedding with a visit from Public Enemy Numero Uno? His wedding . . . _Lu! What the frack had happened to Lu?_

Starbuck could hear footsteps retreating down the beach. Rigours still wracked his body, and he clenched his teeth tightly, holding his breath and trying to get a handle on the rising tide of pain. His last memories of Luana, covered in blood, and lifeless, didn't help. Fleetingly, he recalled Ama's voice calling to him on the beach. _Ordering_ him to move. _Lords, Ama, if you're out there _. . .

_Breathe, son of my heart. I'm watching over you._

He wished that he could have been more comforted by that as he coughed. Pain shot through him once again, starting off another pattern of shudders. Vaguely, he wondered if delirium had once again come calling, looking for a familiar place to rest. It might be the only logical explanation for all of this. Sucked out of a shuttle, and then enveloped in a strange ball of energy that somehow delivered him to the beach . . . and to _Baltar_. It was too absurd to be real. Then again, apparently delirious people didn't usually think they were delirious. Just a lesser known fact picked up along the way, obviously meant to pick holes in his desperately contrived theory. Idly, he fingered the soft material of the cloak as he willed his body to relax. The rising sun didn't provide much warmth, but the thick, luxurious folds of velveteen felt like heaven.

Footfalls were drawing closer once again. His eyes flew open and he suspiciously watched Baltar return with a pack and weapons slung over his shoulders. Surprisingly, his arms were loaded with driftwood. The traitor smiled benignly at him once again before squatting down and arranging the wood in a pile.

"Can you tell me your name? How you came to be here? Who your people are?" Baltar asked after a moment. He looked encouragingly at Starbuck. "Are they nearby?"

Starbuck opened his mouth, but his teeth began chattering anew. He groaned as his recent wounds protested the absence of a hypospray. Yeah, right now he was freezing cold, but soon he'd be in agony when the last of Cassiopeia's analgesics wore off. At least the spasm in his shoulder had eased for now. Not that it mattered much with a comet about to impact this planet, presumably on the opposite side, if the rising sun was any indication. How much time could they have left? It would be centars at the most before fiery red pieces of debris from the comet's impact would start pelting the planet, worldwide.

"We need to warm you up, my friend," Baltar stepped back and fired a pulse-rifle, starting a roaring fire. Finally, he dug into his pack and pulled out a survival blanket. This too, he tucked around the warrior. "There now. That should do it."

Within centons, Starbuck could feel the heat of the fire begin to penetrate his abused flesh. Baltar brought back more wood, piling the fire higher. Despite its damp state, the wood was greasy-looking, seemingly impregnated with some sort of organic oils if the smell was anything to go by. It ignited readily. Finally, the warrior could feel the shaking begin to quell, and an irresistible drowsiness sweep over him as exhaustion overcame him. His limbs felt like dead weight, as though the sand was drawing him downward into its soft layers. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. But he couldn't close his eyes . . . drop his guard with Baltar sitting there . . . it would be craziness . . . suicide . . . _really_ stupid . . .

Then, his head was being gently held up and supported. Water was slowly poured between his dry lips, a bit at a time. He swallowed, until then unaware just how thirsty he was. It hurt, and he felt like hacking, but instead he gulped down every drop. Lords, it went down sweet . . .

"Get some rest, my young friend." Baltar murmured soothingly, easing the younger man's head down gently on some tufts of beach grass. Starbuck barely heard him. "I have this watch."

XXXXXXXXXX

A slight nudge to the right on his stick, then Dayton hit his reverse thrust. He whooped as his ship catapulted backwards, putting him not far off the enemy's tail. Maybe he'd overcompensated just a little bit, not wanting to fling himself directly onto the Raider's nose by mistake, but he could live with that. "Gotta love it!" he grinned. The enemy fighter screamed by him as he cut power. He pressed forward on the stick, and could feel the ship surge ahead.

The back end of a Raider was a beautiful thing, especially considering the last time he'd been pitted against one of these babies, he'd been in the unarmed _Endeavour_. Man alive, it felt good to have all two hundred terajoules of power at his fingertips as he narrowed in on the Cylon ahead of him. He actuated his attack computer, and lined up on his target.

"How ya doin, Mark?" Typical Bob. So much more being asked, than what was actually said.

"His ass is mine, Bob."

Dayton studied his attack computer, watching as the Raider tried to evade. Left, right, but the Viper kept the Cylon always within reach. For an instant, he was back in flight school, a young Top Gun. He fired . . .

And missed, as the Raider snapped hard to the left. With ease, Dayton followed suit, getting back on his enemy's tail. Then, the Cylon tried to turn inwards, and he followed. Engines screaming, he poured on the power as he refused to let go. The Viper was tighter on the turn than the Raider, and at just the right moment, Dayton hit his thrust reversers, and the Viper slowed. Slowed just enough. He tightened her circle, almost to the ship's limits, then smiled as the enemy crossed his scanner crosshairs once more. With his finger paused on the firing button, he waited. _Too easy._

A press of the button, and the Viper let loose two startling beams of energy, too beautiful for words. The Cylons disintegrated before him.

XXXXXXXXXX

The sharp, warm gust of wind came up suddenly. Unnaturally. Then Boomer lurched forward as the ground swayed. Recovering, he turned to look across the plains, first one way and then the next, as flocks of birds took flight. Beyond a distant mountain range, dark clouds boiled ominously. Lightning flashed.

"What was that?" Ryan asked, holding out a hand to grip the side of the shuttle and another to draw Dietra to him as she stepped out of the transport. The shuttle was tilted forward and slightly to the left. He tightened his hold as the ground began to tremble beneath them.

"The comet . . ." Boomer replied anxiously, feeling as though someone was shaking him. Far above, there was a streak, as something burned its way into the atmosphere. From what he knew of such things, he decided it was probably the first of the debris, making its way back down to the planet.

Then just as suddenly the seismic shaking stopped, leaving behind an eerie silence.

"Tremors from the impact?" Dietra asked.

"That would be my guess," Boomer nodded as Cassiopeia and Dr. Paye emerged from the shuttle, looking shaken. "I'm sure we'll be feeling the effects until we get out of here."

"_If_ we get out of here." Ryan replied with a frown. "Hey, just being realistic," he replied, as Boomer turned to scowl at him.

"Doctor Ryan, I'll bet you are—to use one of your own phrases—'a barrel of laughs in the coffee shop'."

"So sue me." Ryan replied without much conviction.

"I'll take it up with Sire Solon." He turned to regard the doctor. "How's Ama?"

Paye grimaced. "The same. If it was up to me, I'd be medically treating her, but that young woman in there threatened to shoot me if I interfered." In apparent disgust, he waved a hand towards the interior.

"Luana?" Boomer asked.

"Lia." Cassie replied, looking tentatively hopeful. "She insists that Ama's alive, but not 'here'. She says that she's with Starbuck, metaphysically speaking."

"Maybe she is." Boomer suggested. "It sure as heck beats the alternative."

"You're grasping at straws," Ryan returned almost automatically, then shrugged and dropped it as he ventured a peak into the shuttle. Lia, Luana and Chameleon had joined hands with the still 'unconscious' necromancer. Lia's eyes were closed, and she appeared to be concentrating. Luana opened one eye sceptically to look at her sister. Chameleon looked like a fish out of water. The conman caught Ryan's gaze and nodded at him to join them. _Insistently._ Ryan shook his head, executing a perfect deke as he retreated quickly. "I don't know. Maybe . . ."

"The communicator is dead, Boomer." Dietra informed him. "We might be able to patch something together, after a while. Low-gain, though."

"I thought so. And our hand-helds are all in the turboflush, with all the interference from the comet impact."

"That bad?"

"It's messed up the planet's ionosphere, and with that storm front moving in . . ." He indicated the approaching maelstrom. "Well, at least our emergency beacon is functioning." He turned as the sky again rumbled from afar.

"Well, lookey here." Ryan pointed. In the distance, a Viper was heading towards them, breaking the silence of the plains.

"Maybe he'll have word on Dayton . . ." Cassie murmured.

Ryan nodded eagerly, obviously thinking along the same line.

"And word on how we're going to get out of here." Dietra added worriedly, as the ground shook again.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Captain! Message coming in from Blue Leader!"

Sheba's heart just about burst from her chest as she activated the comm. _He's alive!_ "Put him on the circuit, Raetic. Apollo? Are you o . . . Status, Blue Leader."

"We're all okay," the captain returned with his characteristic pragmatism, erasing any lingering doubts in her mind. "Dayton and Baker are with me, and we've rendezvoused with the rest of the squadron. What's the situation there, Sheba?"

He sounded so _normal_. As if nothing was out of the ordinary. As if he was fine with the fact that Sheba was suddenly the strike captain of the _Pegasus_, without ever discussing it with him. Her internal klaxon blew out an eardrum, knowing he would never express personal feelings over such a public forum. No, he'd have a few things to say about it all, but never on an open circuit. She needed to talk to him, but unfortunately it would have to wait. There were more pressing matters right now, and they both knew it. "Jenny's team is safely aboard the _Pegasus_. Flight Sergeant Zebulon has located Boomer's shuttle. Their communications were down, so he had to land in order to assess their status." Her tone shifted from optimistic to tense. "Crewman Desmarais was killed when the shuttle was hit by Cylon fire. And Starbuck was . . ." She paused, trying to make sense of what she'd been told, if that was possible.

"Starbuck was _what_?"

"I really couldn't get a straight answer from them, Apollo. Nothing that made sense anyway. But he's missing. Sucked out of the breach in the shuttle mid-flight. Ensign Lia was insisting that he's not dead, and that Ama—who Dr. Paye thinks is in some kind of coma—is somehow watching over him." She sighed. "It didn't make a lot of sense to me either, even coming from Boomer. Also, Zebulon reported groundquakes and other environmental anomalies on the surface. There's quite the storm heading their way."

"Is there a shuttle on the way?"

"I wish. Believe it or not, we had to refuel Jenny's shuttle. Most of the _Pegasus_' transports were sent to the Fleet back at Gamoray. It's due to take off in . . ." She checked the Bridge chrono. "Two centons with a Viper escort. How's your fuel?"

"Low. Why?"

"We're picking up a Cylon transmission from one of the Raiders, Apollo. It seems that one survived long enough to crash on the surface. It's about ten and a half kilometrons from Boomer's location. There's a small chance that with the impact of the comet on the planet, it will be destroyed by debris or some environmental catastrophe. . ."

"But there's a chance it won't." Apollo concluded. "We're better off ending that transmission, so another Base Ship doesn't come calling to investigate."

"Exactly." Sheba agreed. "Refuel on the _Pegasus_, and then I need you to go eliminate the source of that transmission. I know the chances are remote, but maybe you'll find some sign of Starbuck along the way."

"Affirmative, Captain." Apollo returned, acknowledging her rank for the first time. "We're coming in. How's your father, by the way?"

"The last I heard, he'd escaped from the _Galactica_'s Life Station, and was reported to be at large on the Bridge with _your_ father," Sheba replied with a forced lightness.

"Sounds about right." He paused, before adding tentatively, "Maybe you could meet me in the Bay?"

"I'll be there," she replied straight away. Apparently, she wasn't the only one anxious to talk. _Thank the Lords_ . . .

XXXXXXXXXX

As the sun rose higher, Baltar divided his time between keeping the fire going, checking on the condition of his young charge, and watching the tide roll in. When the ground had unexpectedly shook beneath him, the young man hadn't even stirred. They were far enough back from the water's edge to be safe from the encroaching water, and he had found a small stream which entered the sea not far away. With a merry blaze, a windbreak, the warm sun, fresh water at hand, and a few provisions, he had to admit, they weren't doing too badly.

The water was approaching the Raider, lapping gently at her nose as the surf continued to rise. It was getting choppy further out as the wind began to pick up even more. For a moment, he idly wondered whether or not Lucifer had survived the encounter with the Colonials. He fervently hoped not, and smiled to himself that he—Baltar—was basking in the sunshine while Lucifer had been blasted into oblivion, or so he'd figured. He looked up at the sky, and frowned slightly. The day had started with a cloudless blue sky, but now he could see an ominous line of dark clouds building over a distant line of mountains, and rolling in at an alarming speed. There was a distant rumble of thunder, and the ground shuddered slightly once again. Once it stopped, he added to the fire, pausing as the young man mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

On the opposite horizon, the sky had taken on a drear, even muddy look. He frowned, wondering what wonder of nature was causing that. He climbed to his feet, wishing he had retained his cloak as the brisk wind hit him once again. He turned to find the young man's gaze locked on him suspiciously.

Baltar smiled slightly, squatting down opposite the other. As yet he hadn't communicated. "Ah, you're awake. Do you . . . _understand_ me? Do you speak my tongue?"

Something akin to amusement seemed to light the other's eyes. He licked dry lips before nodding and rasping, "Yeah." His voice was gruff, and he cleared his throat, wincing at that slight movement.

"How did you come to be here?" Baltar asked as he handed over a canteen. A trembling hand reached out to take it, and Baltar moved to help him.

"I can do it!" He rasped loudly, his eyes flashing in apparent anger.

Baltar hesitated. There was _something_ . . . "Of course you can," he replied calmly, as if talking to a child. He held the canteen out, tempted to keep it just out of the other's reach so he would be forced to admit his helplessness.

Something about the _attitude_ irked Baltar. Blue eyes narrowed at him, and a muscle at the corner of the injured man's jaw conveyed clear displeasure. Surprisingly, he leaned forward, his face paling at the obvious discomfort, and he snatched the canteen from Baltar's fingers with surprising agility, and a grunt of determination. Apparently, he had regained some strength after his rest. The blanket and cloak pooled around his waist, displaying the soaking wet and blood-stained bandages beneath the thin infirmary gown that was clinging to him like a second skin. His hand continued to shake, and he added his other to the task as he raised the canteen slowly to his lips. Water slopped down his chin, but he managed to get some into his mouth. Finally, he laid back, sweat beading on his forehead from his efforts, despite the raised flesh on his cold skin. His breathing was ragged. His eyes closed as he grasped for his covers once again.

"How did you come to be here?" Baltar asked again. "How were you injured?"

The young man's eyes opened and he regarded Baltar steadily. Then he cleared his throat, before rasping something quiet and unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"C'mere . . ." he beckoned Baltar closer with his fingers. Then he sighed wearily, rubbing a shaking hand over the bruised side of his face and groaning softly.

"I wish I could give you something to ease your pain, my young friend." Baltar told him, as he squatted down beside him.

"Oh, you can ease my pain . . ." He murmured softly, a slight smile on his lips.

"Oh . . .?" Baltar asked, shaking his head in confusion.

He wasn't expecting the fist that collided with his nose . . . and then it hit him . . .

"_You_!"


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

"You!" Baltar spat again, as he cradled his bloody nose from where he had landed flat on his astrum. He could feel himself tremble with rage as his hopes, his desires, and his prettily painted illusions of grandeur vaporised before his eyes. This young man wasn't part of an unknown tribe of Humans that would gather him to their collective bosom, give him their trust, and eventually immortalise him as their ruler! He was instead the despised Lieutenant Starbuck of the Battlestar _Galactica_. "Of all the people in the entire universe, why does it have to be you?" He looked in disgust at his incarnadined fingers, before looking up suspiciously. "You never travel alone. Where's the other one?" he instinctively looked around.

Starbuck shook his head slightly, not understanding.

"Apollo! Whenever you show up, he's not far behind!"

Starbuck cocked an eyebrow, motioning over Baltar's right shoulder.

Baltar's eyes grew wide with horror, and he twisted that way, reaching towards a pulse-rifle, knowing he didn't stand a chance against the young captain. He'd seen Apollo risk life and limb to defend Starbuck before when Charybdis had set the lieutenant up for terminating a fellow warrior. His eyes scanned the beach desperately, looking for Apollo.

There . . . there was nobody there. The empty beach mocked him. He lunged back around to see Starbuck grinning at him, looking entirely too smug for a man in his position.

"Made you look," the warrior ridiculed him.

"Why you . . ." Baltar snarled, lunging towards the injured young man, pulse-rifle in his hands.

Apollo rubbed his weary eyes as he doffed his helmet, and then headed for the decontamination chamber. Lords, how many centars straight had he been at it now? He glanced at his chrono, but it blurred before his eyes, obviously deducing that he didn't really want to know the ugly truth. He scratched at his cheek, grimacing at the rough growth there. At least the shuttle was on its way to pick up Boomer and company, and within ten centons Apollo would be back in his refuelled Viper, chasing down some Cylon signal. It almost seemed nonsensical that he had to spend the time he had aboard the Pegasus in decon, but regs were regs.

After what had happened right before Kobol, it was virtually a Law of God.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Apollo!"

Sheba jumped off the turbo lift before it set down. She looked almost as tired as he felt. Even so, not a strand of hair was out of place. He couldn't help but smile at that as she strode over towards him with a worried expression on her lovely features and a few rations in her grip. His lips quirked again, as he realized he'd almost been expecting her to be wearing Cain's traditional gold brocade on her flight jacket. The usual explanation immediately came to mind. You've been hanging out with Starbuck too long . . . Then he sighed, as he once again tried to reconcile himself to the fact that he might never see his best friend again.

Sheba approached him uncertainly, almost wearily. Yeah, a lot had happened since they'd last had an opportunity to speak. It seemed more like sectons rather than the couple days it had been. The rescue mission. The Pegasus showing up. Sheba impetuously taking a position on her father's ship, and then ending up in command. Cain undergoing life-or-death brain surgery. That derelict _Abaddon_-class Cylon derelict. The comet. Malus, the IL Base Commander who'd been stranded for a hundred yahrens. The _Endeavour_ finally going home. He hoped. Colonial Warriors lost in combat. Losing Starbuck again when the shuttle was attacked.

Sagan's sake . . . no wonder he felt as if he was mentally and physically exhausted. Done. Not ready to talk, in any event. No, he wasn't in any frame of mind to figure out what was next for them, or how to make things work. To figure out complications that Sheba had no doubt already thought about.

"I thought we could talk . . ." And then as he flinched, "In decon." She held out the rations, seemingly self-conscious as her flight crew watched them expectantly.

Apollo smiled tentatively. The last time they had 'talked' in decon was when he had shuttled back from Alrin injured and almost blind, and she had joined him from her Viper. Before that, their relationship had been slow and tentative as they took the time they had thought they both needed to get used to the idea. After all, he had a son to think about. However, after both of them defying death on Alrin, they had shifted their relationship into full turbo, giving in to the passion that had been simmering on the backburner for too long. It had been the first time that either had said, "I love you."

Instead of the rations, Apollo took Sheba's hand, pulling her into the chamber with him, closing the hatch and smiling into her eyes as the red light came on. "Come here," he whispered huskily.

"Where exactly?" she returned with a smile, putting a hand on his chest, teasingly holding him at bay.

"Right here." He pulled her against him with both arms, crushing the rations between them. Then he grinned ruefully as the squished nutrients dropped to the deck. "Too bad there's no room to lie down in here," he mused.

"Who needs to lie down?" she retorted, fingers pulling hard at the fasteners on his tunic, and then exploring the muscles on his chest and shoulders.

He growled low in his throat in reply, then he crushed her against him, as his need to connect with her overcame all else. She met him with equal passion, remarking coquettishly as she came up for a breath, "I see you don't need a navigational fix on my lips this time around."

He chuckled, "I've had my . . . scanners upgraded since Alrin."

"Okay then. Concentrated scan . . ." she rasped.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Are you still here?" Adama sat down in the seat next to Cain on the Bridge, after returning from his quarters for an all too brief rest.

"I can't believe she's still flying." Cain mused as they gazed upon the battle scarred and weary _Abaddon_ Base Ship on their approach. "She was a wreck before, now she's an abomination!"

"Take a look at this." Adama handed over the data pad with the latest damage report for the Cylon ship. "They built them to last six hundred yahrens ago."

"So did we," Cain replied, playing with the wire that was dangling from the base of his skull.

"Stop that!" Adama snapped irritably, then shrugged as Cain raised his eyebrows in question. "I'm afraid you'll . . . uh . . .unplug yourself and lose power."

An involuntary shudder passed through the Juggernaut at the sudden image of himself shorting out like a centurion. "Don't even joke about it." He glanced once again towards the battered enemy capital ship. "So, she's destined for the Foundry Ship?"

"Yes." Adama nodded, also looking thoughtfully towards the ship as a Viper landed in one of the functioning bays.

"It was tactical genius, using her as a decoy, Adama. Sheer tactical genius."

"She availed herself well." Adama nodded. "Lords, who would have thought . . . a Cylon Base Ship being used to save _Human_ lives."

"The universe is full of surprises. Though usually _I'm_ the one taking credit for them," smiled Cain. Inside, he had to admit, he was impressed. Even with all his strategic brilliance, using an obsolete, half-wrecked enemy ship to deceive that same enemy would never have occurred to him.

"True enough." Smiled Adama in agreement.

"I know it's unconventional, but have you thought about . . ."

"I have."

"And?"

"I'm still thinking."

Cain chuckled. "About time Tigh had his own ship."

Adama nodded, rubbing his chin. "I know."

"That Malus could stay on as his aide. Lord knows we don't want him aboard the Battlestars." He snorted. "At least _I_ don't."

"Fair enough."

"Are you still thinking?"

Adama looked at him long and hard, before standing up. "Are you still _here_?"

Cain laughed, and stood to go. "Let me know what you decide."

Adama clasped his shoulder warmly. "Get some rest, old friend."

XXXXXXXXXX

Somewhere between a tankard of ambrosa and staggering back to his quarters, Chameleon had once told Starbuck that he was the kind of child that would look for a stick to poke a sleeping, venomous Thorn Serpens with, just to see what would happen. Apparently, not a lot had changed in his nature since then, and he knew that he might have made a tactical error as his aching and pain-wracked body reminded him of all he'd been through while the furious Baltar hurled himself across the scant metrons that separated them. Starbuck was in no shape to physically fight off the traitor, despite the man's sedentary condition, and it was with a heavy heart that he let loose his handful of sand, throwing it into the other's eyes, and then rolling quickly to the side to avoid him.

Too quickly.

Pain surged through his body as he moved, but Baltar's renewed shrieks of pain and fury made it all worth while. Gasping, Starbuck struggled to free himself from the blanket and cloak that had entangled his limbs, and to get some distance between them. He managed to make it to his knees, scrambling towards the two remaining rifles. He stretched out, his fingers brushing the butt . . .

Then his back exploded in agony as something came crashing down on it. He heard a scream, knew it as his own, and then a cold piece of murderous metal gripped him under the chin. He was jerked to his knees, back against Baltar, the barrel of the pulse-rifle choking off his airway. His vision blurred and he groaned as his back convulsed in rising waves of agony that seemed to match the _boom_of thunder in the distance.

"Do you remember how I asked you to bring a message of peace to Adama on Kobol, Lieutenant? Do you recall how I treated you well, and then released you? Saved you from the usual fate that befalls a Colonial Warrior on a Cylon Base Ship." Baltar's voice was eerily calm, as he maintained the steady pressure on the younger man's throat, keeping him helplessly pinned against him. "Do you realize what course of events you set in motion when you failed me? What future you scripted for me?"

"Failed_ you_ . . .?" Starbuck rasped, feeling the pressure ease ever so slightly as he clawed at Baltar's grip. Bile rose in his throat as the traitor breathed hot, oppressive air on his cold skin. His muscles screamed in protest as he knelt helplessly, his head spinning. He knew he could pull the oldest and dirtiest trick in the book, but wasn't sure he had the strength to be any further ahead because of it. "You were responsible for killing billions . . . innocent people . . . and you think that _I_ failed _you_?" he asked incredulously.

"I was betrayed!" Baltar yammered, his shout sending Starbuck's ears to ringing. "I was as much a victim as _any_ of you were. We could have destroyed the Cylon Empire had Adama listened to me then. We could have turned it all around. The Imperious Leader was destroyed at Carillon! That was his Base Ship! For a brief moment, their world was in chaos! We had the advantage!"

"What are you? Spacehappy?" Starbuck spat back. "Commander Adama knows better than to trust you. We all do." Starbuck gritted out between his teeth, not inclined to listen to these lies, or any others that Baltar would spew forth. He'd almost been convinced on Kobol, and felt a fool for it later when the Cylons had attacked, dispelling any proclamations of fellowship that Baltar had expressed towards them all. It had all been another lie. One more deception. Thank the Lords that Commander Adama hadn't been fooled . . .

"I came in good faith! The attack on Kobol was not by my ord..."

"You don't know what good faith is!" Starbuck rasped over the rising wind. Thunder boomed once more.

"I dragged you from the surf, you ungracious pup! Saved your life."

"Well, here's your chance to correct _that_ mistake!" Starbuck rejoined, arching his back and reaching between their bodies, intending to grip, squeeze and twist until the other howled in agony. He'd once told Baltar that he'd trade his life for a single shot at the most hated man in history. Well, maybe fate had finally delivered his wish. Like a mystical message from the ancients—if a guy was inclined to think that way—the ground started shaking violently.

Baltar cried out in surprise and fright, letting loose his grip on the warrior and falling backwards. Above them black clouds were rolling in, and the first pelting droplets of rain pattered down on them. Their ears pounded with the roar of thunder, and lightening flitted across the sky a moment later.

"By all the Gods, what's happening?" Baltar roared, startled by the sudden tempest. He'd been expecting some inclement weather, but not this quickly, and not so violent.

"The comet . . .it's impacted." Starbuck replied, collapsed on the sand. He was acutely aware of his near nakedness as the wind and rain buffeted him. They were running out of time. He glanced over at the water pooling around the Raider. She was over a metron deep now, and her access would be submerged. Frack! He needed to get a message out if he had any chance at saving himself, provided any of her equipment even still worked . . . as for Baltar, well he'd cross that chasm when he got to it.

"What comet?" Baltar asked wide-eyed, his ignorance at the matter obvious. He looked up at the sky as a fiery fragment shot across the sky, impacting in the distance with a resounding explosion. "Lucifer!!" he howled to the heavens.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Can they land in this?" Luana's soft voice penetrated Boomer's brooding, as he looked out through the hatch, the last of the survival gear stowed in his pack. The clouds looked more like a series of muddy and dark waves, pitching and rolling in the surf. The wind was nearing gale force, and he had just been considering the answer to her question. About twenty paces away, sheltered by a small rise on one side of a stream, a fire burned, protected from the worst of the winds.

"If they can land, they can take off again," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a quick squeeze. The wind whipped her hair around her face. "How are you holding up?" He needed to raise his voice to be heard over the approaching storm, as thunder clapped once again and lightening raced across the sky.

"He's alive, Boomer," she told him, grasping him by the chin when he turned away. "I'm sure of it."

Boomer nodded, not wanting to burst her bubble. Holy frack, married only centars ago, and her groom is sucked out of a shuttle mid-flight. He wouldn't want to believe it either. But his rational mind was telling him otherwise, no matter the rumours of Empyrean 'necromancy' at work. And Lords, it hurt like he'd lost a brother.

"I calculated a radius from when we were hit by the Cylons, Boomer. It wouldn't take long to do a search. Factoring in the shuttle's velocity, altitude, the wind speed . ." her eyes pleaded with him as she presented him with her data pad.

Boomer grabbed her hand, held it tight. "Luana, if that shuttle lands, and then we manage to get it off the ground safely again, it would be suicide to go looking for traces of Starbuck in all of this." He waved at the squall, the rain beating down on both of them, sideways. "There's no way he could have survived falling from that shuttle. We had to be two hundred metrons in the air at the time. Maybe more."

"He's out there, Boomer!" She pointed at the maelstrom, her tone rising to compete with the howling wind. "He's injured, and alone, and we're just going to leave him there . . . to die! Well, I can't do that!" She shook him by the flight jacket, her voice raw with emotion. "I won't!"

"He's already d-dead, Lu!" Boomer's voice choked, and tears flooded his eyes. He shook his head as he watched her eyes fill in turn, then he nodded towards the interior of the shuttle. "I have to accept that, and so do you! Just like Crewman Desmarais, and Ensigns Sandor and Elek on the ground, Starbuck fell in combat! He knew the risks! Now understand, as senior officer here, I can't risk all these lives . . . not even for Starbuck . . ." His throat choked off completely while his chest hitched painfully. His voice hoarse, he continued, "_He_ wouldn't want me to."

"But . . ."she sobbed, "He's not dead!" Tears poured down her cheeks now as she gripped his jacket futilely. She looked at the storm, then back in the shuttle, understanding his decision, though despising him for making it. She beat him half-heartedly on the chest with a partially clenched fist, shaking her head in helplessness and disbelief. "Not . . ."

"Hush, now . . ." Boomer pulled her against him, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he smoothed her windblown hair and rocked her gently. "I'm so sorry, Lu. So sorry . . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I wish I was going with you," Sheba whispered, slipping her arms around Apollo's waist and pressing against him as they stood by his Viper. "One last mission together? Soaring together, side by side. Hmm?"

He grinned, pushing her silken, brown hair back from her face. "Weren't we just doing that?" He nodded towards Decon.

She laughed, tilting her head, "Well, since you mention it . . ."

He kissed her softly. "Seriously, I have to go. And someone needs to stay here and command the _Pegasus._"

"I know." She smiled ruefully, well aware she couldn't abandon her command. "Just a whim." Then she studied him for a moment, memorizing those beloved features to treasure later. "I love you."

"I love you too." He replied with a satisfied sigh.

"And I need to apologize for every time I ever second-guessed you or challenged your decisions when you were in command." Living command was an entirely different thing from criticizing it. She had gained a new respect for him.

"Well, at least you didn't just _ignore_ me, like Starbuck . . ." His teasing smile dropped as he remembered his missing friend.

"Don't give up on him yet." Sheba returned, gently caressing his cheek, giving him the support she knew he needed. "There no force more powerful in the universe than that crazy Starbuck Luck." She refused to talk about their friend as though he was already dead.

"I thought _love_ was," Apollo ventured, a whimsical smile on his features.

"That's not what Starbuck said." She returned, kissing him again. "And given his usual winnings at pyramid . . ." She shook her head, with a wry laugh. "Anyway, flyboy, keep your eyes open, and don't do anything that I wouldn't."

"Well, that leaves it wide open." He teased her.

"Captain!"

They turned together to see Dayton jogging towards them. He held his helmet in one hand, and aside from the grey hair and no rank insignia, looked like any other Colonial pilot.

"_No_, Dayton." Apollo replied curtly, lightly kissing Sheba again before sharply turning and scaling his fighter, and then climbing into the cockpit. He put his helmet on, then looked down at Dayton again. "No!" He shook his head for emphasis.

"C'mon, Apollo. I already missed hitching a ride on the shuttle to rendezvous with Cassiopeia and my guys. At least let me come along and help you out." The Earthman begged him, quickly climbing up to sit on the side of the Viper as Apollo pulled on his helmet.

"Dayton, it's going to be like flying in a whirlwind. You and Baker did fine down there, you even bagged your first Cylon, but there's no way in Hades Hole that I'm going to take you down there again."

"Whirlwind, Captain? What the hell do you think I did for a living on Earth? _Gardening_? I was a combat pilot, a flight instructor . . ."

"Over thirty yahren ago. _No_." He reached for the canopy control, then called down to Sheba. "Throw him in the Brig if he tries to follow me." She raised her eyebrows, causing him to add, "If you would, Captain." She smirked.

"I had to try, Apollo," Dayton shrugged good-naturedly, climbing down slowly.

Apollo grinned at him. "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't."

"Safe home, Apollo." Sheba called out.

The strike captain nodded, giving her a final smile and a thumbs up, as the canopy lowered into place. He fired up his engines, waiting for permission to launch.

A centon later, they watched Apollo's Viper scream down the launch tube, and into space. Dayton sighed and looked at Sheba. "I don't suppose you'd sort of . . . well, look the other way, if I were to run to my plane, and follow him? Huh?" He jerked a thumb in that direction, where another fighter was being tended by the hangar crew.

She shook her head. "You're not much for following orders. Are you, Commander Dayton?"

He leaned over and whispered, "He's not actually in command of me." He winked at her, before heading away towards the Viper. "But don't let on that I know it."

"The _Brig_!" Sheba reminded him, her voice ringing out across the bay.

Dayton abruptly shifted directions, looking back at her, "From what I hear, you have a lot in common with your father, Commander Cain."

"Oh, stick around, Commander!" She replied as she watched him head for the turbo lift, curiously pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket and waving it over his head.

XXXXXXXXXX

The traitor had collapsed into a useless heap of quivering, whining flesh, as he raved at Lucifer, like a child having a tantrum, for dumping him on a doomed planet. It continued for long centons, before Baltar finally lapsed into blessed silence. He'd been apparently struck dumb at this latest revelation . . . thank the nine Lords. It would have been funny, had Starbuck not been sharing the experience. He could feel Baltar's eyes on him now as he slowly weaved his way up the beach towards the Raider, each step tortuous. He had wrapped the survival blanket around himself, desperate for its warmth. If the pilot looked back, he knew his serpentine path in the sand would look like that of a drunken man, but his head was spinning as though he had spent the last day on the Binge Barge, so it wasn't advisable. He could hear the staccato pounding of his heart in his ears, and at any moment he half expected a shot from Baltar's rifle to slam into his back. Abruptly, his stomach heaved. At about the same time, the world spun around madly and his head decided to join his feet down on the beach. When he finally opened his eyes, Baltar was peering down at him critically, his green velveteen cloak, once again secured around his shoulders.

"Well . . . that went well, didn't it?" the traitor taunted with an infuriating smile as the dark sky above him flashed with more lightening. Surprisingly, he adjusted the blanket over the younger man.

Starbuck winced, waiting for his stomach to stop pulling G's. It startled him when Baltar spoke again.

"What was it you were _trying_ to do?"

The steady, pounding rain felt good on his parched lips. He licked them, savouring the wetness before replying, "If the comm in the Raider still works, I should . . . be able to get off a short-range transmission, even in this weather."

"What good would that do?" Baltar's brow furrowed, his attention rapt. The thunder boomed again, and he looked up at the lowering sky.

"They'll send a rescue team for the shuttle." _Don't even think about her. There's no time for that now. _ "It can't be far away."

"What shuttle?" Baltar asked, head snapping back down to nail Starbuck with his eyes, his features shifting as he concentrated.

"The one I was sucked out of," Starbuck sniffed, wondering just how Baltar would take _that _news.

"Are you trying to tell me that you were sucked out of a shuttle, and fell to the surface, unharmed?" Baltar raised his eyebrows, his features incredulous. Almost without thinking, he looked the younger man up and down, evaluating his injuries. His brows crinkled. "What do you take me for?"

"A deceitful, manipulative, treasonously malignant, scum-sucking snitrad who would sell his own mother's soul for power, wealth and position. Assuming he even _had_ a mother, and wasn't hatched on Cylon." Starbuck replied with a blinding smile. "For a start."

Baltar chuckled. "You are misinformed, my boy. I'm not the demon that your commander would have you believe." He shrugged at the scepticism on the warrior's features. "In any case, it would appear that you need some help. I'm willing to make a deal, if you are." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

It was like some old story out of the Book of the Word that the matron had pounded into his brain at a tender age. There was a moral or an adage in this somewhere, Starbuck was sure of it. The trouble being, he had no idea what it was. "What deal?"

"Give me your word that you will help get me off this cursed planet if the opportunity arises." Baltar paused. "And I'll do the same for you."

Just the thought of Baltar helping him do anything was almost enough to make him toss his primaries, and for a moment he wondered if he'd hit his head even harder than he'd thought. Still, at this rate he'd either have to crawl to the Raider, or significantly improve his vocal range to be heard by nearby transports. He nodded.

"Your word, Lieutenant Starbuck."

"I'm surprised you'd value it." Starbuck ventured.

"I know who your people are. You're practically one of Adama's whelps," he sneered. "You're a man of your word, as am I. Your word, Starbuck," he insisted.

"You have it."

Then Baltar was helping him sit up, and putting an arm around him supportively. Together they managed to get him to his feet, where he weaved for a moment before regaining his equilibrium. He groaned as pain lanced through his back and shoulder once again.

"What happened to you?" Baltar asked, noting the encroaching dark red stain on the bandage. It looked fresh. Probably from where he had pummelled the warrior with the rifle. "Before you were sucked out of the shuttle."

"I got married." Starbuck grunted as they trudged through the sand. He ignored Baltar's look of disbelief, and the laughter that was whipped away by the wind.

Before long, they were wading through the briny deep. Starbuck gasped as the cold bit into his flesh. He discarded the blanket, tossing it back to a drier location, knowing he'd need it more on the return journey, and waited patiently while Baltar discarded his cloak and boots. The iciness crept up his legs until it hit his chest as he waded out to the Raider. As he'd imagined, the hatch was submerged. Checking the Raider's stability, he gave it a shake,. He leaned on the fighter for a micron, as his vision started to blur.

"Can you make it? Baltar asked, the question translating in Starbuck's mind to "Do I have to get wet too?"

"I'm definitely going to need your help." Starbuck smiled somewhat apologetically. Not a complete façade. "I don't think I'm up for a swim right now."

Baltar glowered at him. "On three then. One. Two. Three."

XXXXXXXXXX

Ryan stood there at the hatchway watching transfixed as the rescue shuttle approached. Every man and woman there held a collective breath when out of the writhing cloud formations hurled a menacing piece of debris on a deadly collision course. The transport appeared to rear up at an impossible banking angle, and the projectile passed it by like a participant in an air show designed to 'wow' the spellbound crowd. It roared on, to be lost over the prairie.

"That was close," Dietra breathed as the shuttle straightened out and corrected not once, but twice, still pummelled by unpredictable air currents.

Boomer nodded, "It's like trying to land in the middle of a battle, hostiles all around you and not knowing where the next attack is coming from." Using his hand, he sheltered his eyes from the wind and rain, scanning the sky for further hazards.

"Yeah, only this hostile is the Harpy from Halifax, aka Mother Nature," Ryan added. "And the way she's carrying on, I'd say she's in serious need of some hormone replacement therapy."

"Stop bringing your ex into this." Porter murmured.

"C'mon, Baby . . ." Luana muttered beside them as the shuttle appeared to bank unexpectedly on approach. "Frack, the crosswinds are unbelievable."

"Keep it together . . ." Boomer encouraged them.

The transport corrected and moments later she was finally on the ground.

"Okay people, let's _move_!" Boomer shouted.

Contrary to the lieutenant's instructions, almost every one of them ducked back into the shuttle. Ryan followed Lia and Luana over to where Ama was still stretched out, insensate. He could hear Boomer barking at the others to get moving again.

"Can we move her?" Ryan asked, not particularly liking Paye's frown of concern as his eyes bored into his medical scanner.

Paye sniffed in seeming disgust, "Damned if I know. Her heart rate is down to thirty-five and her respirations are two a centon, and shallow. _Clinically_, she's about to have a cardiac arrest." He glanced at Cassiopeia.

"_Logistically_," Boomer's voice announced from the hatch, "this planet is about to be torn apart from flying debris. We need to go. _Now_!"

When Boomer, the Colonial nation's most even-tempered warrior, started to lose his cool, it was time to take notice. Ryan slipped in beside Ama, scooping her up against his chest, "I'll take the old doll."

Paye nodded, as though he was happy to be relieved of the responsibility for a few centons. He gathered up his meagre equipment, climbing to his feet and pulling a reluctant Cassiopeia to hers. "Let's go.".

By now, Boomer was waving his arms like an erratic air traffic controller, trying to propel them forth by both actions _and_ words. Ryan followed Lia and Luana, adjusting Ama's considerable weight in his arms. Yeah, all those drinking and eating Empyrean courtesy ceremonies had added up. Why hadn't he allowed a younger and fitter man to heave the Necromancer from hither to thither?

The elements tore at them as they raced towards the shuttle, following behind the others. Cassiopeia seemed to be hanging back, making sure her patient didn't drop dead—or more likely get dropped—on the mad rush towards safety. Ryan could see Boomer shouting back at him, but his words were lost in the gale. Man, it was the first time Ryan had thought he might take flight without the benefit of a ship as the wind gusted behind him, almost lifting him off his feet. Debris from the ground slapped him in the face and he stumbled, dropping to his knees, and taking a moment to shift his load.

Then Cassie was there beside him, pulling him upward with shear will and determination. He regained his feet as the wind and pelting rain blasted him full in the face again. Abruptly, an ominous form was hurling straight towards them. Having no time for anything else, he pivoted, reaching out and throwing Cassie and Ama to the ground. The wind hurled him to his knees above them, and he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable impact.

It didn't come.

Instead, a tingling sensation seemed to envelop his body. It shielded and warmed him. Moments later when he opened his eyes, instead of gazing at the women, he was looking down on a beach. Extraordinarily, there was a Viper just off to the side. The line of the sand seemed to irrationally imprint itself on his brain, as clawing waves climbed higher and higher, intent on claiming the land for the sea. Then suddenly, he was looking down on three men. But at a glance, he only recognized one.

_Starbuck._

A warm, gentle breeze washed over him . . .

"_Ryan_!"

It was Cassiopeia's scream that brought him back from wherever he had briefly been. He looked at her panic stricken eyes, full of confusion and relief. "What the hell happened?" he screamed at her.

She shook her head, either not knowing, or not caring at that point in time. Quickly, he gathered the Necromancer into his arms once again. Cassie propelled him forward, and within seconds they were stumbling into the shuttle.

Boomer guided him towards a seat, and then turned and manually closed the hatch with a _bang_. "Get us out of here!" he shouted forward as he stormed that way.

Ryan dropped into the seat, turning to lie Ama down. He shook his head, as the most vivid image of a sinister projectile flying towards him, Cassie and Ama repeated in his mind. Then it had simply disappeared to be replaced by . . . "Did you do that?" he murmured to the Necromancer. Typically, she didn't answer, her features almost waxen, her skin cool.

"Ryan," Cassie pulled at his arm. "What happened? I thought something was coming straight for us."

"Well, being the courageous guy that I am, I . . . I closed my eyes." He shrugged apologetically. "Don't tell Mark, eh?"

"And what did you see when you opened them?" she whispered, squeezing his arm, her eyes wide and expectant.

He frowned. Maybe it wasn't just him. Maybe he wasn't crazy after all. Lord thunderin' Jaysus, he hated this mystical mumbo jumbo! "I was on a beach . . ." One Viper. Three men.

"And so was Starbuck," Cassie breathed, nodding. Her fingers dug into his arm.

"And so was Starbuck." Ryan nodded, jumping to his feet and heading to the flight deck. _"Boomer_!"

XXXXXXXXXX

While flying through a storm certainly tested a pilot's skills, not to mention his ship, it also made him wish for the relative peace of Space. Apollo corrected his course once again, with his eye on the scanner, as the wind buffeted his Viper. In all this cloud and rain, he didn't dare try and navigate by sight alone. The Cylon signal had flickered, becoming intermittent, but he was almost there, according to the coordinates the _Pegasus _had given him. Beneath him, choppy waves encroached upon a beach. _Beep._ Ah, at last. Coming up on the enemy craft, and he should be coming out of the cloud layer in about . . . three, two, one . . . He narrowed his eyes, searching for signs of anything Cylon as he made a couple sweeps, trying to visually sight the target.

Then he saw it.

The Raider was almost completely immersed in the water, her nose invisible, her tail end poking through the surf. He sniffed as he realized that this little exercise probably wasn't even necessary. Cylon Raiders sitting on the ocean floor generally didn't attract too much attention from passing Base Ships. Yeah, the emergency beacon would have likely died a death after total submersion. Then again, he might as well blow the fighter to Hades Hole, eliminating any possibility of risk.

With a flick of a switch he engaged his attack computer. He turned his fighter around, heading down the beach preparing for a strafing run, his finger poised over the firing button. It was a novel situation whereby an enemy target actually sat still, waiting for him to blow it up. Very accommodating.

His finger caressed the button, just as a nasty gust of wing buffeted his ship, causing it to swerve to the right slightly. He lifted his thumb from the button, as something else caught his eye; it was an infra-red trace, within a hundred or so metrons of the wrecked Raider. He switched the scanner over to Passive/Terrain-following Mode. Yes, a strong heat trace, and as he looked out through his canopy, his peripheral vision picked up a wisp of smoke. He paused, passing the Raider by one more time, and turning again to check out the source. Smoke? On a windy, rainy beach?

It could have been a piece of the comet's debris pelting the surface, igniting the vegetation, but he'd know in a moment. Slowing the fighter as much as he could, he frowned as the source of smoke looked more like a campfire than an impact crater.

Generally, Cylons weren't really known for building fires. An image of three centurions sitting around the campfire exchanging stories and singing techno-pop while toasting mushies on their swords crossed his mind. He shook his head, wondering where that had come from. _Lack of sleep?_ _Excess of endorphins?_

_Beep._

He glanced down. Human readings. Coming from the Raider. The one he'd almost destroyed. "What the frack . . .?"

He hastily looked for a place to land.

XXXXXXXXXX

Starbuck sucked in a deep breath, before immersing himself in the water. His breath hissed out through his teeth as the cold seemed to cease him by the throat, and the surging tide threatened to slam him into the wreck. The water was murky, the visibility less than a couple hands in front of his face. It was disorienting in the extreme. Then a hand grabbed his arm insistently, pulling him towards the Raider's barely visible hatch. He used his hands to pull himself in. In a few more microns he was through, gasping for breath, and being dragged onto the angled flight deck, and draped over the rear seat to prevent him from pitching forward. Positive pressure alone seemed to be keeping the air inside. Only a few lights from the panel cast a faint glow in the darkness.

"As usual, you're underdressed for the occasion, Lieutenant." Baltar commented wryly as he regarded the other.

"Who writes your material? The Imperious Larker?" Starbuck returned, shivers once again wracking his frame as he adjusted his sodden infirmary gown.

Baltar pointed forward. "We're wasting time here. The comm. . ."

"Just a centon . . ." Starbuck gasped, trying to catch his breath, his arms wrapped about himself, trying to quell his shivering. His head was once again spinning from his efforts.

"Every centon we wait, is another potential moment for a rescue shuttle to be flying out of range, Starbuck."

Starbuck glared at the traitor, who looked just as cold and miserable as he felt . . . in a blurry, whirling sort of way. The warrior nodded, moving forward towards the control panel and the comm suite, gripping anything he could to stay on his feet. He tried to push the wrecked centurion aside, grunting as the pain in his back flared up again.

"Oh, let me." Baltar said in annoyance, laboriously pushing the Cylon out of the way. The trashed robot fell with a loud splash as it hit the water pooling in the nose.

"Let's see if this works." Starbuck murmured, slipping into the seat and switching on the short-range transmitter. He sighed with relief as it lit up. "This is Lieutenant Starbuck. Does anybody read? Repeat, this is Lieutenant Starbuck. Do you read?"

It didn't even crackle in return. Starbuck frowned and shook his head.

"What?" Baltar asked.

"I don't think we're receiving." the warrior told him, reaching under the panel. An array of sparks shot up around them and he jerked his hand back.

"What did you do?" Baltar blasted him, jumping back from the console. He looked briefly at the forward port. Totally immersed in the sand and sea, it was cracked, with water seeping through to trickle down the inside.

"I got electrocuted!" Starbuck returned just as testily, sucking on his fingers. He leaned down, peering into the darkness. "How about shining some of your sparkling personality down here so I can see."

"Perhaps we can use the light of your full moon?" Baltar rejoined with a sniff.

Starbuck scowled at him as he grasped beneath the console in the dim light. "What's not crushed is fried from getting wet. I'm amazed we can transmit at all. I think I can record an outgoing message loop with our coordinates, if I can find them on the navigation system." He glanced at Baltar. "Wait a centon, where's the portable?"

"Excuse me?"

"The portable communicator. Don't Cylons have portable units in the Raider's kit?"

"Under the seat. In the water."

"Just perfect." Starbuck grumbled. "Back to Plan 'A'." He leaned down again, fiddling with barely discernible circuitry. "Well, at least we'll be transmitting something until the system fails completely. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

"You're not exactly filling me with confidence." the traitor replied, watching the younger man work.

"Oh, I have a gift for getting out of these situations. Stick with me, Baltar, and before you know it you'll be safely back on the Prison Barge where you belong."

Baltar's features twisted in distaste as that annoying grin flashed at him once again. "You still take great joy in antagonizing me . . ."

"Hey, you're not exactly on my Winter Solstice greeting list either, Baltar."

At least they were exchanging barbs instead of laser fire. The truth was, they needed one another. At least for now. And Baltar could thank his lucky stars that Starbuck had graduated from the old four yahren Academy program that had taught Colonial Warriors so much more than how to fly a Viper, and read a regulation manual.

"All right." Starbuck nodded finally. "It's set. Let's go. I'll follow you out."

Baltar climbed back up the angled flight deck, waiting as the warrior made his way more slowly aft to the hatch. In the dim light, Baltar could barely make out his features, but the heaving, hard fought breaths made it clear he was fading fast. "Shall I go first?"

Starbuck nodded, looking once again into the cold, murky depths that awaited them. The fighter had to be almost totally submerged by now. "Yeah. I'll see you up there."

In a micron, Baltar had dropped down into the frigid water. Starbuck rubbed his bare arms, wondering what the odds would be that the fire would still be burning. He stepped forward, ready to drop down into the water when the ground shook and the Raider shifted violently. He fell back towards the nose, crying out as he slammed into the aft seat, then rolled into the console. The metal groaned and he tumbled into another surface as the fighter rotated, and flipped over onto its back. The port's crack widened, and icy water started pouring in.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Apollo raced down the beach as the powerful wave struck the Raider. It was tossed in the air, flipping over like a breaching whale, before it flopped back down, upside down, and totally disappeared beneath the surf. He paused in horror, pulling off his flight jacket and boots. Unbelievably, a head bobbed up suddenly in the receding wave, dragged out towards sea, before being tossed head over heels, and thrown him back at the shore.

_Starbuck??_

The captain sprinted forth, pouring on the speed as the tide pulled the man out to sea once again, and then spit him back brutally. Up to his thighs in frigid sea water, Apollo grabbed two handfuls of fabric, ending the ocean's cruel game. The man sputtered and coughed, seemingly unable to gain his feet. Middle-aged, podgy and fully clothed, he was most definitely _not_ Starbuck. The warrior dragged him up the beach, while keeping a weary eye open for another threat seaward. Above, through the roiling clouds, he saw a flash of fire, as another chunk of debris from the comet's impact, thousands of kilometrons away, was reclaimed by gravity.

As soon as he felt the firm, dry sand beneath his feet, Apollo dropped him to the surface, falling to his knees alongside. Instinctively, the captain rolled him on his side, as the man started spitting and coughing up sea water, trying to catch his breath. As the coughing and gasping finally subsided, the other rolled onto his back to get a look at his rescuer. A harsh blast of reality slapped them both in the face.

"_Baltar_!!" Apollo cried in absolute shock.

Baltar groaned, shaking his head in resignation, before looking up at the black sky. "Oh God, just take me now . . ."

The force of the water gushing into through the Raider's hatch blasted against Starbuck, as sea water replaced life sustaining air. He struggled for a breath, as he desperately fought to gain his feet, clawing at anything that might let him drag himself towards the only way out. The cabin was filling with water, and he was hastily running out of both air _and_ time, as all light was obliterated. His heart was racing and he coughed and hacked, fighting to get his panic under control as he found it increasingly impossible to pull himself through chest high frigid water while the Raider rocked and swayed in the riptide.

The metal of the fighter groaned as she settled on the bottom. Again, he pushed aft, as the fighter settled onto her back. The water was up around his neck now, and still racing in violently from above him. His chest burned with the lack of air, and he coughed and wheezed helplessly as he breathed in sea water inadvertently. His lungs felt as though they would burst, and he craned his neck, frantic to find a mouthful of air. There was no fracking way he would be able to reach the hatch, or get through it, until the pressure equalized. She had to fill up. He was only wasting his strength trying.

And he was running out of that too.

He could feel himself slipping under and took a final heaving breath before the icy depths swallowed him . . .

_CRACK!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"_Ryan_!" Boomer shouted in frustration from his seat just behind the flight deck, where he could watch and hopefully be of some assistance as they attempted to escape the storm. Beside him, the Earthman was ranting, raving, cajoling and pleading with him to go cruising down the coastline until they happened upon a particular bay that look something like a 'perfect smile on a happy face', or 'a frown, if you turn it upside down'. "I can't risk an entire transport full of people on a . . . a _vision_!" His stomach lurched as the shuttle reacted to an air current, not helping the situation. He heard someone retch abaft.

"Cassiopeia saw it too, Boomer. He's out there! He's really out there!" Ryan replied, holding onto his seat as he unintentionally lurched into the warrior. Half an eye on the viewport as they penetrated the black clouds, he continued, "Ama is trying to tell us something. She was channelling that image!"

"Channelling?" Boomer repeated, shaking his head. What could be more difficult than trying to argue with every other person on this ship, that they _shouldn't_ go in search of one of his best friends because Starbuck was dead! He sucked in a deep breath, and started counting to ten, trying to dispel the rising anger that inspired him to deck Ryan, simply to shut him up. The man was maddeningly tenacious. As well as unbelievably annoying.

Maybe that was how he'd survived the asteroid prison.

"Look, I understand that it looks a bit quirky to the rational mind, but if _I _believe it," Ryan poked his index finger into his chest, "then either it's true, or I've just gone off the deep end. Maybe both." He shook his head, uttering a few words that neither culture reserved for worship settings. "Surely to God, you can find it in your _advanced_ and _evolved_ state of being to entertain the thought that . . ." He took a gasping breath, just about at the breaking point. "One of your good friends, a man we owe a hell of a lot to, is STILL ALIVE AND NEEDS YOUR GODDAMNED HELP!"

"Oh, that's it . . ." Boomer growled, curling a fist, even as he realized he'd probably never use it. Oh, to be known as the "quick-tempered touchy warrior", instead of "practical and amenable Boomer".

"Boomer! We're picking up a signal . . ." Flight Sergeant Makita tossed back over her shoulder. The frequency crackled as she tried to boost the reception. "The freq is Cylon, but there's a voice, sir!" Makita cranked up the gain to its maximum setting.

Boomer leaned forward, waiting. Ryan fell silent beside him.

"_This is Lieutenant Starbuck. Does anybody read? Repeat, this is Lieutenant Starbuck. Do you read_?"

"Oh _God_!" Boomer groaned, just about feeling sick. He lurched forward, hanging on with a new resolve in the pitching cabin, and listening to the forthcoming coordinates while checking the scanner for the latest on the storm. Makita quickly abandoned her seat, letting the more experienced and somewhat obsessed pilot take her place, as he muttered aloud and plotted a wide path around the squall that would take them to Starbuck's position ASAP. As the shuttle finally stopped lurching like a bucking equine, Boomer let out a deep breath, feeling his usual peace of mind and calmness returning as Luana hung over his shoulder, demanding an update. That done, he glanced aft at the Earthman. "Ryan, he called out quietly. "Thanks."

Ryan shrugged as he rubbed the bruised jaw Dayton had given him hours earlier in the cavern. "It's what I do," he replied simply.

XXXXXXXXXX

After having been betrayed, and then almost beheaded by the Cylons, having ancient ruins collapse upon him, narrowly escaping the wrath of Cain, being sentenced to life on the Prison Barge, and finally being recovered from a planet of exile, the idea of something as basic and uncomplicated as a riptide killing him had made Baltar feel irrationally cheated while he tumbled head over heels up and down the beach. Surely, that was not the end the cosmos had planned for him! His death should be . . . _magnificent_. To die without anybody even noticing had made him feel deceived. Mistreated. His death _couldn't _be meaningless and insignificant! Inconsequential and trivial! Not for_Baltar_! Nevertheless, death seemed to have had him firmly locked within its jaws, as his lungs burned and the pressure in his head almost cracked his skull open. Until unbelievably he was dragged from the surf . . .

By _Apollo_, of all people!

"What are _you_ doing here?" Apollo blurted out, his disappointment at finding the traitor, instead of his best friend, overwhelming him. If he'd ever wanted to throw one back into the sea, it was now!

"I've asked myself that same thing . . ." Baltar coughed, spitting up sea water as he raised himself up on an elbow. He glanced seaward, looking for Starbuck. There was no sign of the warrior. His brow furrowed. The lieutenant obviously hadn't made it out of the Raider . . . the Raider that he _now_couldn't see. His gaze swept the seascape. Nothing. "What happened to . . ." He sputtered again, before adding, "the ship?"

"It went down," Apollo returned. "There was a high wave . . ." He motioned woodenly towards the angry swells of surf, a numbness, an emptiness, enveloping him.

"Went _down_?" Baltar repeated dumbly. It was complicated. Personally, he detested Starbuck, but he had also given his word to him. Of course, the very fact that the lieutenant would trust a man who was purported to have betrayed the Colonies, indicated that he was a fool of the highest calibre.

_Give me your word that you will help get me off this cursed planet if the opportunity arises. And I'll do the same for you._

_His_ words to Starbuck came back to taunt him. From the looks of it, Baltar_ would _get off this cursed rock. Adama's son would see to that. That opened up a whole new world of possibilities that he had once only fantasized about. For a brief moment, he considered what might happen if he held his tongue. Starbuck would surely be condemned to the murky depths for all of eternity. By the looks of him, he already had one foot in the grave. And if Baltar sent Apollo in to rescue him . . .

Then Baltar _might_ just lose his ride, his one and only ducat off this doomed planet. If the captain failed to return from attempting to save his compatriot, Baltar could be writing his own death sentence. After all, the lone Viper, and not a shuttle, had responded to their distress call. However, if Apollo was able to save his friend, with _his _help of course, then Colonial Warriors would look upon Baltar in a new light . . . one that would be necessary if he was to rejoin the Fleet. A capstone in his pocket, as it were.

_ You're a man of your word, as am I._

With a trembling hand, Baltar pointed to where he had last seen the Raider. "Lieutenant Starbuck . . . he was right behind me . . . was going to follow . . . he must have gone down with the ship!"

Apollo gaped at him sceptically, and then distrustfully. For a moment, his eyes seemed to bore into Baltar, as though he could penetrate his thoughts, read his intent.

"If you're lying, Baltar . . . if you're lying . . ." Apollo's eyes flicked to the still-burning fire. "Believe me, you'll wish you were dead. Trust me!"

"I . . ." Baltar began, shaking his head innocently, his eyes wide with apparent astonishment, but Apollo wasn't listening. A milli-centon later, the captain had lurched to his feet, sprinting back towards the surf.

XXXXXXXXXX

_The most peaceful way to die_ . . .

The thought flitted through his mind as Starbuck gagged on the water he had breathed in, and then heaved as his body violently rejected the offender. The icy depths burbled up over his head in a sudden rush, and in the back of his mind he realized the viewport had given way. Water poured in from two directions with no counter pressure to slow its flow.

His fingers scrambled for purchase as he frantically flailed, trying to find the hatch in the darkness. Immuring metal seemed to be all around him. No escape. The walls closing in. The two centurions decidedly unhelpful. He tried desperately to hold his breath, but it felt as though someone was punching him in the guts, and in a panic, he drew another breath . . .

_Gagged_ . . . _heaved_ . . .

It all seemed so clear just then. A fluid image slowly took shape before his eyes, languid in its construction and breathtaking in its beauty. It was Luana as she had looked when they had said their vows, binding them in holy matrimony for all of eternity, or at least a few precious centars. He blinked and reached out to her, realizing the pain that had tormented him since being shot was finally gone. He felt wonderful. Blessed. Numb. At peace.

And then he understood.

The pelting rain and roaring wind tried to drive him back as Apollo waded determinedly into the murky, cold water. The silt, sand, and vegetation cast up from the sea floor muddied the visibility, and he could feel his chest hitch with panic when he couldn't spot where the fighter had gone down. How long had Starbuck been under the water without air, presumably trapped in a Cylon crypt? His heart pounding, his eyes scanned the surface for a clue. Some trace of where the Raider might be. He could hear Baltar yelling at him from the beach, his voice barely discernible in the storm.

"Right! Farther to the right!"

Then he spotted it. An eruption from the deep . . .

_Bubbles!_

Gulping in a breath, he plunged into the water, diving beneath the crashing waves. A fine line of bubbles guided him downward. It could have only been three or four metrons deep, but the pressure in his head was almost unbearable when his outreaching hand brushed what had to be the solid form of the Cylon ship. He grasped a piece of metal, preventing himself from floating back to the top, and pulled himself along hand over hand, trying to make heads or tails of how the Raider was lying. The ship shifted ever so slightly, rocking back and forth in the current.

A fresh burst of bubbles caught his eye, expunged with the change of position. Pushing off with his foot, Apollo launched himself forward. He groped forward in the dimness, finding a significant hole. His hands palpated the area. It was the hatch! The Raider was on her back!

His lungs burned painfully, as he pulled himself inside. It was pitch black. He had to keep his head, and his sense of direction if he was going to get out of here again. The cold was numbing his extremities, making it even more difficult to feel his way in the blackness. He had to do this methodically, logically, though his growing desperation made him want to scream Starbuck's name aloud, while he thrashed about wildly in search of him. Utilizing every scrap of will he had and following a rough grid pattern plotted in his mind, Apollo groped blindly in increasingly wider circles, frantic to find his buddy.

Suddenly, he could see. A faint glow seemed to suffuse the water. He squinted, as his eyes tried to adjust, and then he saw a body, just as his hand brushed a thin piece of material.

Instantly, Apollo gripped the cloth, pulling on it sharply. A cold, limp form bumped into him. Starbuck! He pulled his friend against him, putting an arm around his chest, and started kicking frantically for the hatch. Apollo could feel an encroaching fuzziness, a sure sign he didn't have much time left. His head passed through the hatch, and he almost whooped in victory as the natural light above them beckoned him upward like a beacon of hope.

Then he jerked to a stop.

Somehow Starbuck was snagged. Apollo loosened his hold on his friend, getting above him, and planting his feet on the belly of the ship. He rocked in the current, trying to keep his balance as his chest ached and his ears roared from the lack of air. Apollo shook his head furiously, refusing to concede.

Tightening his grip around Starbuck's chest and under his arms, he heaved upwards, hoping he wasn't doing any irreparable damage. With a lurch, he pulled Starbuck free, and they both floated upward. Using one hand, and kicking with all his remaining strength, he tried to propel them faster as his peripheral vision blurred. He was dying to take a breath, and the air above them seemed impossibly far away. His vision thinned to pinpoints, and his lungs were near to bursting. Then his head broke the surface. . .

And the merciless wave struck them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Why Baltar was standing there, up to his thighs in frigid water, staring out to sea in the driving rain and howling wind, was beyond him. He should be huddled by the fire, his cloak wrapped about him . . . and he'd tried. _Oh_, how he had tried. The microns had stretched into centons. The centons into eternity. The truth was that if these two dunderheads didn't come back, he was likely going to be stuck on this death trap of a planet until the forthcoming inferno made him wish he'd flown to Hades Hole directly instead.

He looked up at the angry sky, as yet another fiery trail made its way to the sea. Cursing, he glanced down at his chrono, for the first time wishing he'd done so when Apollo had first dived beneath the waves. It had to have been three or four centons, at the very least! He squinted, seeing something in the surf tumbling towards the shore, caught in the undertow, much as he'd been not long ago. It was a man. _Two_ men! Two_dunderheads_!

In for a quantum, in for a cubit.

The next thing he knew he was wading through the waves, racing to intercept them before the rolling tide dragged them back out. Perhaps if he'd been done a little bit more in the way of physical exertion in the last several sectars, he would have made it. He didn't though. Not even close. He cursed through gritted teeth, as his gold pass to Adama's gratitude was dragged astrum over tip, back into the fury of the sea.

Of course, he _was_ putting _himself_ at risk. But if Baltar could survive _two_ Imperious Leaders, Lucifer, a headlong attack by Cain, being marooned, and then crashing_ here_, a comparatively trifling spat with a tempest should be child's play. The waves really weren't that high. As long as he stayed on his feet, he'd be fine. Determined, he waded a bit deeper. How hard could it be? After all, Adama's son had done it!

Amazingly, they tumbled towards him again. It was crazy. Truly idiotic actually, the way he grabbed the feebly struggling Apollo by the collar and heaved him up the beach as the thunder roared overhead like an adoring crowd of spectators, all for Baltar. Still, seldom-abused muscles protested his mistreatment of them, and he was sure he would be spending his first days of freedom in the Life Station getting pulsar traction treatments. The captain was trying to crawl—but not with much effort or results—while simultaneously retching up his last meal. Somehow, but not surprisingly, the warrior managed to maintain a death hold on a limp Starbuck. The infirmary gown on the lieutenant was a tattered rag now, revealing wounds and bruises previously only assumed, and just about everything else that God had given him.

"I believe we're even now," Baltar informed Apollo in a superior tone, as the warrior released Starbuck. Certainly, he did not want to feel beholden to Adama's son in any way. He grabbed his nearby cloak, his instinct to wrap it around himself, and then instead he paused, and placed it over Starbuck. Then he noticed that the captain was heaving like a felix coughing up a hairball. He pounded the young man on the back as Apollo dropped prone onto the sand, hacking, coughing and wheezing noisily. Baltar grimaced at the disgusting display, glancing at Starbuck again. He looked . . . even worse. Decidedly dead, in fact. How typical of the warrior to complicate his plans!

Baltar held out a hand to touch him, thoughts of heartbeats and the like vaguely entering his mind, then he hesitated. There was something distinctly abhorrent about death. Ugly. Truthfully, he'd rather distance himself from it. Glancing at the still gasping Apollo with a certain amount of expectation, he asked, "Are you going to_ do _something about this? You realize he's dead, don't you?"

Like a wet daggit, Apollo shook his head, struggling to his knees while still fighting to catch his breath. He was clearly exhausted and suffering from swallowing a fair amount of sea water himself, as he attempted to roll the limp and lifeless form of Lieutenant Starbuck onto his back. The dead man flopped into place accommodatingly, his eyes open and unseeing. Kneeling alongside, Apollo leaned over him, trying to manipulate cold, shaking hands, a sound akin to a sob passing his lips. As a huge flash of lightning tore across the angry sky, he gagged and coughed again, bent over double, spewing seawater noisily. He groaned in misery, his head buried in Starbuck's shoulder.

"Help him . . ." Apollo gasped after a moment, his eyes pleading as he looked up.

It was a definite upswing in Baltar's day.

"Me?" Baltar replied by rote, pointing to his chest. Did he even remember basic first response? His eyes grew wide with a dawning realization and complete aversion as it all flooded back, as though he'd just walked out of his class in basic field training. He'd have to . . . _Lords of Kobol, no! _He shuddered in repugnance. "Are you sure you can't . . .?" Apollo shook his head most decidedly in the negative, his stomach still heaving.

_I'm not the demon that your commander would have you believe._

"Well, that might have been a bit hasty . . ." Baltar mumbled as more of his earlier words to Starbuck taunted him. His eyes flitted back and forth between the two warriors. _Apollo_ was supposed to save Starbuck. To do the dirty work! Baltar was only to get his clothes wet and come off as somewhat virtuous and crucial to the rescue . . . This wasn't part of his plan!

"Baltar!" Apollo wheezed, looking skyward as a faint roar was heard in the distance from the sea. He looked that way, the black clouds eclipsing his view. "_Please_!"

"Well," he sighed. "Since you put it that way . . ." Baltar moved closer to Starbuck on the opposite side. He could wrap his mind around this. Make it work to his advantage. He adjusted the dead man, tilting his head back and pinching his nose. He took one more glance at Apollo, just in case the captain had made a miraculous recovery. He hadn't. With a distaste Baltar would likely never find the equal of again, he locked lips and breathed into Starbuck's mouth, watching his chest rise ever so slightly from his efforts. He did it again, and then started banging on the younger man's chest with a raised fist, causing Apollo to wince and pale, and to raise a hand in alarm. Perhaps the captain heard the sickening crunch of breaking ribs? Worst-case scenario, Starbuck would still be dead. Certainly, nobody could blame Baltar for _that_. But if he happened to revive him, Lords of Kobol, he'd be an honest to goodness hero! Well . . . near enough.

"You breathe . . . I'll compress." Apollo rasped, his shaking hands pushing Baltar's fist aside. He shuffled down in the sand and placed his hands precisely on Starbuck's chest, starting smooth, methodical compressions, while still wheezing. Baltar once again breathed for the lieutenant. Lightning arced again, and thunder exploded. Violently—and most likely in recognition for his humanitarian efforts—there was a sudden backwash of liquid straight into his mouth as Starbuck gagged and sputtered. Baltar gagged reflexively in kind, shuddering in complete revulsion, and noisily spitting repeatedly into the sand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as he watched Apollo gently but insistently push Starbuck onto his side.

Blue eyes flickered open as Starbuck heaved. Fluids shot out of his mouth and nose, towards Baltar, of course. His body shook with his efforts, while he struggled for a breath.

"Easy, buddy . . . I'm here . . . I've gotcha." Apollo told him haltingly, rubbing Starbuck's arm and shoulder in reassurance. The captain coughed again, then teetered to his feet slowly and clumsily to grab the nearby abandoned survival blanket. Glancing at his Viper, he returned and dropped to his knees, tucking the blanket around his friend. "I have to get help. There _should_ be a shuttle in range," he murmured as he glanced at his chrono, tapping it in frustration. He scowled. "Damn! Piece of . . ."

Baltar wasn't sure if the warrior was talking to him, or Starbuck. However, the lieutenant was about as communicative as the closest rock as he curled into a ball, his eyes slightly open, but unfocussed. Curiously, he didn't even react to the cold of the elements, or the pain he had to be in from his assorted injuries. "I'm surprised you didn't bring a shuttle to begin with. After all, it _is _standard procedure."

"Why would I do that?" Apollo asked, soaked to the skin, shivering with the cold. He climbed to his feet, heading for his Viper.

"Weren't you responding to the distress call?" Baltar replied, brows furrowed. "You appeared so quickly."

Apollo paused, "Distress call?"

"The one that Lieutenant Starbuck transmitted from the Raider."

Apollo hesitated, not feeling it was necessary to let Baltar know he'd been about to blow up the Raider with his lasers to end its signal. He turned as he heard a familiar roar in the distance, this one mechanical. A shuttle was flying in low from over the waves. He let out a deep breath, his relief obvious, then returned to Starbuck's side. "Help's on its way, buddy."

"He doesn't look very good." Baltar remarked quietly. Solemnly. Appropriately, he hoped, not meeting Apollo's sharp glance.

Starbuck's eyes had drifted shut again. His skin was ashen with a tinge of grey, except where it was a sickly yellow, or a deep purplish black from bruising. His breathing—both shallow and rapid—sounded wet, as though he still had a wave or two washing around in his lungs, and he needed to cough it up. Other than the odd wince, he seemed unresponsive, even when Apollo rubbed his arm and spoke his name again.

In centons, the shuttle had landed down the beach, and the hatch opened. A young female warrior exploded through the hatchway, racing towards them, while a handful of other warriors, two older men, and medical personnel followed. The young woman spared Baltar a brief curious glance before dropping to her knees beside Starbuck, brushing wet dark-blond hair away from his face. She didn't seem to recognize Baltar.

"What happened?" Luana asked Apollo. "He sounded _fine_ on the transmission!" She glanced between the captain and Baltar, as though trying to ascertain for herself what had occurred. "Well?" she added insistently.

"The Raider we transmitted the distress call from is out there." Baltar pointed towards sea. "There was a ground tremor . . . the Raider shifted just after I made it out. Starbuck was just behind me. I'm not sure what specifically happened then, but it filled up with water and he didn't get out." Baltar explained as the others arrived on the scene.

A look of such startled surprise, that it was almost comical, crossed Lieutenant Boomer's features, as well as the dark-skinned beauty beside him. As a unit, they pulled their weapons, aiming at him.

"_Baltar_!" Boomer hissed. If looks could kill, the lieutenant wouldn't have needed his pistol.

Other heads snapped around, and those people drifted away from him conspicuously, as though proximity alone would expose them to some disgusting disease whereby they would end up betraying their nation as a result. The "pariah factor". Baltar had seen it more than once when he had rejoined the Fleet after he had made the fateful decision to meet Adama under a flag of truce . . . only to be imprisoned. To be maligned by Council members and hardened criminals could be considered an affront to a lesser man's self esteem.

Still others ignored him, surrounding the downed Viper pilot, the medical team running portable medical scanners, as well as the usual handheld biomonitors, over him. Yes, Lieutenant Starbuck was certainly the centre of attention, stealing Baltar's thunder, as it were.

Apollo motioned for the two warriors to put away their weapons. Reluctantly, and with spiteful and distrustful glances at Baltar, they complied. The captain then placed a hand on Luana's shoulder. "He drowned, Luana."

"How long was he without air?" Paye asked with a frown of concentration. He shook his head, as he considered some readouts on his monitor, then his head snapped towards Apollo. "How _long_?"

"Under ten centons." Apollo glanced at Baltar for confirmation. The other glanced at his chrono and nodded.

"We could use the neuro-stimulator," Cassie suggested, passing another monitor over to the physician. "I can't get a vein. He's too volume depleted."

"Blast! Look at these results!" Paye shook his head. "Prep him for a cut-down. We need to get whatever we have left into him before his heart stops again."

"Take some more of my blood." Chameleon told them. "You have no other choice."

"Hey, what about this guy?" Ryan nodded towards Baltar as Cassiopeia started scrubbing down Starbuck's neck, while Paye pulled a large bore line out of his medical kit. "What blood type are you, Baldric?"

"_Baltar_."

"_Baltar_? You mean the _traitor_? _That_ Baltar?" Ryan asked, wide-eyed. People nodded around him. "Jaysus Murphy! You know, where I come from, they shoot traitors on sight." He glanced at Dietra, her hand still on her weapon.

"Canada?" Dietra asked, suddenly unsure.

"No, Torg's asteroid base." Ryan shrugged, and then asked again. "What blood type are you, Balbuster?"

"_Baltar_. It's rather atypical, I'm afraid . . . I don't recall the type specifically."

"Just what we're looking for. Type and screen him, Cassie." Paye pointed at Ryan. "Dr. Ryan, if you'd _assist_ Baltar onto the shuttle."

"I'm telling you," Ryan grabbed Baltar by the collar, pushing him towards the transport. "If we shot him, we could use _all_ of his blood. How do ya like them apples, Balderdash . . ." He startled. "What the . . . Bloody hell! Would you look at that!" He pointed out to sea.

Or where the sea _had_ been. Unbelievably, the water was retreating, exposing a hundred metrons of sand and rock. Then two hundred. Fish flopped urgently on the wet surface, and the crashed Raider was now in plain view.

"What's happening?" Baltar asked, pausing to watch in fascination. "The sea is . . . gone?" He took a few steps towards the wet sand, as did a couple others.

"Tsunami!" Ryan hollered suddenly. He pushed Baltar towards the shuttle, then turned to grab Boomer's arm urgently. "We have to get out of here _now_!"

"A what?" Boomer asked, not understanding the Earth-speak.

"Big ocean wave that sweeps people out to sea after an earthquake!" Ryan gesticulated wildly. "This is a warning sign! I was in Khao Lak, Thailand during the Tsunami of '04! I'm telling you, it doesn't look like much right now, but over four thousand people died that day in Khao Lak alone!" His eyes swept the ocean, looking for a sign of the incoming wave. "We might have minutes . . . we might not!"

Apollo climbed to his feet, feeling Boomer's sudden grip on his arm as he weaved. "Let's move out! Get aboard the shuttle. Tell the pilots to be ready to go when the hatch closes."

"Captain, I'm taking your Viper." Dietra told him, without question, as she sprinted in that direction.

"O-_kay_." Apollo replied dryly, left standing in her dust. He peeled a piece of seaweed off his shoulder.

"Seems you're riding with us, buddy." Boomer smiled, leaning down to help carry Starbuck. "You! Baltar!" he shouted. "You're with me! Here!" Then he murmured more quietly, "Where I can keep an eye on you."


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

Cassiopeia was Lu's gauge.

Dr. Paye had a knack of throwing out medical vernacular as though 'rib fractures', 'hypothermia', 'atelectasis', 'hypoxemia','arrhythmia', 'asphyxia', 'hypovolemia', 'haemorrhage', and 'blown graft' were all commonplace in his universe, and no need for concern.While inserting tubes, he rambled irritably to an unresponsive Starbuck all about _bedrest_ not officially including diving into submerged fightercraft to transmit distress signals, but other than expressing a certain amount of frustration with his noncompliant patient, he went about treating the stricken warrior with an otherwise emotional detachedness that left her feeling cold.

With Cassie it was different.

Luana had a knack for reading people, thanks to both her blood, and her Empyrean tutelage, and she could see the concern not only on Cassiopeia's features, but in her hasty movements and the way she kept studying her biomonitor. The shuttle was in danger of being hit by some rogue wave that could pound it into scrap, and the med tech was clearly more worried about Starbuck.

It spoke volumes, and left Luana wanting to scream out her pain, releasing the emotional maelstrom that was choking her. Instead, she sucked in a steadying breath, and asked, "How bad is it?"

"Touch and go," Cassie replied, holding the younger woman's gaze and reaching out to squeeze her hand briefly. "Starbuck needs surgery, and we can't do that until we get to either the _Galactica_ or the _Pegasus_." She glanced at a scowling Paye, obviously remembering the state of the second Battlestar's Life Station as last reported. "We're going to have to remove his spleen. His splenic graft repair perforated, and he's been bleeding internally. His peritoneal cavity is one big blood clot, and the pressure's building up. To complicate matters, his lungs are in _no_ condition for an anaesthetic after drowning." She swallowed, briefly checking results once again. She glanced at Paye. He nodded soberly at her to continue. "His prognosis isn't very good, Luana."

"What are his odds?" Luana asked, by rote, watching Starbuck's life mask mist up with each shallow breath. His eyelids flickered, as if he was subconsciously absorbing their words. Somehow numbers would make it more real for her.Less nebulous. She _needed_ a clear picture to mentally prepare herself . . . if that was possible.

"_Odds_?" Paye snorted. "Luana, _if_ he survives this, there's no way in Hades Hole he'll be cleared for active duty as a Viper pilot again." Paye inserted, trying to communicate the seriousness of the situation. "In addition to everything else, his renal function is back in the turbo flush."

Starbuck stirred, his eyes flickering open. He groaned quietly, and his bride instantly leaned down to caress his cheek lightly with her lips, murmuring something quietly in his ear and touching his hand. He tried to speak, but it was more of a rasp. She stroked his hair, willing a calmness she didn't feel into her touch, hoping it would give him strength and reassurance. "I'm here, _Innamorato_." With a chesty cough and short sigh, he closed his eyes again, his fingers curling around hers.

Cassie shook her head, her eyes tearing up for a micron until she blinked determinedly.Then she looked over at Ryan, almost desperate for another task she could focus on. "Are they a match?"

Ryan nodded, glancing down at the blood sample in the medical analyser. "Yeah. Same weird-ass factor that Starbuck and Chameleon have. How many units do you want?"

"One." Cassie replied. "He'll need blood post-op, and I don't want to lose that option unless I have no choice."

"I could squeeze _more_ than one . . ." Ryan waggled his eyebrows at her. "Good till the last drop, as they say back home."

"_One_, Ryan."

Luana noticed that the traitor—a man she had only heard about—was gazing out the port at the eerily empty beach, occasionally glancing in apprehension at a still insensate Ama, even as Ryan pulled up Baltar's sleeve, preparing to drain his blood. At a glance, he didn't look like a man capable of betraying a nation of people, then again she wasn't sure why she had imagined Baltar would be fearful at a glance. Instead, he had a soft physique, was greying at the temples, and his clothes were thin and threadbare in spots. If it wasn't for the tales she had heard of him, she could almost find it in her to feel a little sorry for him, as everybody glared at him, and Ryan interjected the occasional death threat. Baltar had muttered something about the 'witch', when he had first spotted Ama, and seemed to be waiting for her to rear her head and cast incantations in his direction. Ironically, it wasn't all that unlikely with Ama.

However, Luana was concerned about her godmother, and her prolonged trancelike state. Lia and Chameleon stood watch over her while keeping an eye on Starbuck. Their little family—which was finally official with the wedding—was once again being threatened, this time on more than one front.

Dr. Paye appeared almost relieved to be dealing again with a patient with typical symptoms and textbook diagnoses, as he continued to concentrate on Starbuck. Still, he glanced at the monitor he had attached to the Councilwoman every once in a while, as if to assure himself that against all probabilities, she was still with them. Meanwhile, Apollo was closing the back hatch and hollering forward for them to take off.

"Everybody get strapped in. We're taking off." Apollo told the passengers, as he ran through to take a seat beside Boomer, just behind the pilots. They could see Dietra in the Viper already lifting off, and heading out over the sea, not hampered by needing to organize the wounded, and load multiple people. She circled around, the wind buffeting the small fighter. Through the main viewport, an incoming wall of water— not all that high at a glance, but deadly and powerful—was flooding the beach at an unbelievable speed, encroaching upon their position.

"_Makita_ . . ." Apollo murmured tersely at the Flight Sergeant.

Then the shuttle's engines roared, and with a jolt, they became airborne. They could relax for exactly the micron it took before medical alarms started sounding, and Dr. Paye yelled out, "What the _frack_ . . .!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Setting foot onto a Cylon Base Ship, even an old clunker like this long-derelict_ Abaddon_-class, was a little unsettling, Adama decided. Centurions, in various states of dismemberment, littered the bay, and even inert, they still instilled him with a sense of dread, especially considering their numbers. Adama had to remind himself that this ship had recently helped them gain the upper hand in the battle against a top-of-the-line _Hades-_class Base Star. Still, the sight of Malus there in the landing bay awaiting them—flanked by Dorado and Wilker—almost made him want to draw a sidearm that he no longer wore, and shoot the IL Cylon down.

"I don't believe this," Cain murmured from beside him."Imagine, two old war daggits like you and I, setting foot . . ."

"I can hardly believe it myself, Cain. It's like everything turned upside down."

While Adama decidedly remembered sending the Juggernaut back to the Life Station, somehow he hadn't been surprised to find Cain waiting aboard his shuttle, fully expecting to join him in boarding the _Abaddon _and congratulating her temporary crew on their contribution to the victory. Cain was once again dressed in his uniform, wearing the familiar gold brocade with his swagger stick in hand. Only a weary countenance and that blasted wires dangling from the back of his skull denoted the recent surgery. His old friend seemed to be pushing himself, testing his limitations, in all probability against Doctors orders.

And Adama's.

Adama smiled grimly. Salik and Sobek would probably kill them, _if_ they caught up to them. "Necessity is the mother of invention, Cain."

"Necessity has nothing on her uglier sister, Desperation," the Juggernaut countered with a quirked eyebrow as he looked around at the damage. Whatever had originally torn through here had been as effective as a Battlestar's broadside.

"Commander . . . forgive me. Comman_ders_." Malus apologized for the slip as he stepped forward, and affected a slight bow. "Welcome aboard the _Harrower_."

Adama found himself trying to paste a smile on his face politely, as if this machine would be sensitive to it. "Thank you, Commander Malus. This is Commander Cain of the Battlestar _Pegasus_."

"I understand you to be a man of note in Colonial Society, Commander Cain." Malus inclined his upper torso assembly courteously once again.

"And I understand you to be a _Cylon,_" Cain snapped back, ignoring the restraining hand Adama put on his arm.

"Technically, no," Malus replied, unfazed."True Cylons were actually organic Beings, although they are now extinct, insofar as I am aware. I am merely a cybernetic Being, curiously created more in the likeness of a Human, a fact which I have always found intriguing, if not a little bit ironic, considering our nations' long-standing hostility towards one another. Don't you agree?" His lights flickered for a moment."Now I prefer to think of myself as a displaced unit., belonging to no nation, and in search of a new calling, and more importantly perhaps, a new home."

Cain blinked at the IL, then glanced at Adama. "If I listen to one more micron of this felgercarb, I'll either have to go back to Life Station, or scrap the thing myself. It's all yours, Adama. I'll see you on the Bridge." With that, he slapped Dorado on the shoulder, pulling him along, and headed towards the Central Core. "Show me the Control Centre, Captain. You did a fine job, son.Damn fine.You should be proud, especially having to work under _these_ conditions."

Adama paused as Cain walked away.

"Did I say something to offend him, Commander?" Malus asked.

"Malus, I'm afraid there's little you could say that _wouldn't_ offend Commander Cain, or most of our ilk. After a thousand standard yahrens of constant war . . . " He nodded at Wilker.

"I see." Malus replied, letting a moment pass as Adama congratulated the scientist. Then he added, "I_ had_ been hoping that by offering my allegiance, I would be given a fair chance to prove my loyalty."

"One instance of allegiance isn't going to change a millennia of hatred and distrust," Adama offered honestly.

"Then, I'm of no use to you," Malus returned, a measure of disappointment audible in his tone.

"I wouldn't go that far," Adama began hesitantly, frowning even as he contemplated saying the words aloud. "We're considering keeping and refitting this ship, rather than scrapping her, Commander Malus. . . what did you call her? The _Harrower_? We certainly can't call her _that_." He cringed at the thought.

"May I suggest the _Solarus_, then?" Malus put forth. "It was the name that Lieutenant Starbuck first used when he told me that your 'starcruiser' was but a single exploration vessel. It was rather cheeky of him, don't you think?"

"Quite." Adama responded in bemusement. _Cheeky?_

"Well, it's certainly more optimistic than _Harrower_." Wilker added with a sniff.

"Very well.The _Solarus_ it is." Adama nodded. "I was considering you staying on here, Malus. Working with the Commander of this vessel as an . . . aide."

"Then you aren't going to scrap me?" Malus asked, somewhat surprised. One of the lights in Malus' head flashed a bit faster. Somehow, Adama had the fleeting image of a daggit, wagging its tail.

"No."

"I'm pleased." Malus paused. "I think."

"Malus _has_ been very helpful, Commander," Wilker informed him. "His knowledge of this ship and her systems is quite extensive, and he can actually hardwire himself into her database, detecting and correcting minor problems." He pointed to Malus' hand, and explained the digital interface the IL had used during the battle.

"And a few_major_ ones," Malus added pointedly to the man who had unwittingly set off an electro-identification beacon that the IL had disabled.

Wilker cleared his throat.

"Who will be commanding the vessel, Commander, if I may be so bold as to enquire?" Malus returned his attention to the military man. Somehow, he found himself . . . _liking _this Human Warrior. Albeit, not as much as Starbuck.

"Colonel Tigh. He's a fine officer," Adama added. "He is my Executive Officer on the _Galactica,_ as a matter of fact. He'll be an effective CO for her."

"Commander, might I ask something?"

"Surely."

"A warship is a machine, not a living being. Why do Humans call ships _she_? After all, it possesses no reproductive . . ." he stopped, noticing Adama's expression, when Wilker's communicator crackled to life

"Doctor! This is Captain Dorado! Have the shuttle ready to return to the _Galactica_! Commander Cain has collapsed! We'll have him in the launch bay in two centons!" Then, "Do you read?" His tone rose with an element of desperation.

Adama grabbed the communicator, dispensing with formalities, "We read you, Dorado. We'll be ready!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Ama had gone from a supine, trancelike state, to sitting upright, her wild, white hair billowing out behind her as though windblown, and her grey eyes opened wide as she pointed an accusing gnarled finger at Ryan, like an accusing banshee. Beside her, medical monitors that had briefly alarmed and then sparked and died, now reeked of burnt circuitry.

"Ama!" Lia and Luana cried, as others looked on in bewilderment at the ruined medical equipment that had been monitoring her.

"Dear Lord . . ." Baltar gasped, burrowing into his seat, as the crone rose from the near-dead. He began to sweat in fear.

"Holy Mother of God . . .!" Ryan exclaimed, his mouth agape. It was as though Ama had short-circuited or blown the monitors somehow.

"Not quite, Paddy-Ryan. Even _I'm_ not that old," she returned in a mixture of amusement and thundering doom, then lowered her finger to point to the blood being collected. "Tell me you were going to sanctify that . . . _adulteration_."

Ryan raised a finger to his chest, looking at her dumbfounded. "_Me_?"

"I thought not. Though the spilling of blood is a gift that pleases the Gods, I believe that this particular _donation_ requires some act of _purification_." Ama returned with a distasteful glance at Baltar.

"After all I've done for _him_," he pointed towards Starbuck. "You . . . you _dare_ to insinuate my that blood is . . ._impure_!" Baltar spat, instantly insulted well past his intimidation of her. "I pulled him from the ocean, and saved him from drowning! I warmed him by a fire, until he recovered! I . . ."

Ama smiled her gapped-tooth grin. "Until _he_ punched you in the nose." She looked from the traitor, to Starbuck. "I do _so_ love that boy."

"How could you know that?" Baltar sneered, though his tone was uncertain. His fingers brushed his nose instinctively, and he winced slightly at the still-tender flesh and slight bump.

"Each decision you made to help him, was arrived at, Baltar, through some selfish motivation on your own part." Ama returned. "You're a warped, greedy, mendacious, selfish and confused man who has, yes,contemplated changing, but I personally believe that it is quite simply beyond your egocentric, vainglorious tendencies."

The traitor opened his mouth, his expression hurt and wounded. "You're wrong," he replied haltingly.

"Oh, just _accept_ it. It would be so mush less complicated for everyone involved." she countered, leaning forward, and waving a hand over the donated blood mystically. "May our sweet Triquetra sanctify this gift of life."

"_My_ gift," Baltar pointed out, voice and expression aggrieved. Heturned to the others, finally settling his gaze on Apollo. "Don't listen to her. I'm a changed man! Sectars in exile to consider one's mistakes, followed by imprisonment by the Cylons . . ."

"Imprisonment? Prisoners are usually in the Brig, not planetside." Apollo scoffed.Try as he might, he couldn't keep the acid out of his voice, as fleeting images of Zac and his mother flitted across his memory."Your sentence was up, was it? You were released?"

"Released for good behaviour." Ryan added sceptically, as he disconnected Baltar from the collection line. "That's my bet, Captain."

"I managed to convince them . . ."

"To shoot us down!" Luana inserted, glancing at the traitor as she leaned protectively over Starbuck. The stranger might look harmless enough, but she detected a malignance beneath the surface. If ignored long enough, it would grow and destroy them all. "One of those Raiders shot us down. I'm willing to bet it was on _your_ order."

"Their Commander _had_ ordered them to destroy you." Baltar returned. "Shooting you down seemed a better option at the time." He smiled ever so slightly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"What are you after, Baltar?" Apollo snarled. He couldn't keep his fingers from curling, white-knuckled, imagining them wrapped around the vile man's throat. "Commander Adama gave you your life, and there are no more Colonies to betray."

"Yeah, Balmy," shot Ryan venomously. "For once in your life, try telling the truth."

"I don't recognize your accent." Baltar narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "I've travelled the Twelve Worlds extensively, but can't place you."

"_Direct from Hell_ . . ." Ryan announced with a million cubit smile as though he was hosting an IFB program. "You may not be able to place me, but I'm well acquainted with _your_ kind. And let me tell you, where I come from, we know how to deal with treasonous little snivelling bastards like you, who sell out their own people to the enemy." Ryan had to take a deep breath, unprepared for the sudden rage enveloping him. "You make despots like Hitler and Stalin look like a couple of Flower Children on pot!"

"I have no idea what in the Colonies you are babbling about." Baltar replied, trying to hide his uncertainty and fear. He could see the unpredictability in the stranger. He was far more dangerous than any reserved and controlled man with power or influence, such as Apollo or Adama. If the time ever came that they were alone, Baltar knew that inexplicably and irrationally, Ryan would kill him. And he'd never know why. "Captain?" Baltar looked at the officer a little desperately.

"Be glad you don't," spat Ryan, eyes cold as death as he looked at Baltar. Baltars wallowed hard as his gaze reluctantly returned to the man. "Be very glad, Ballcock."

Baltar's mouth opened a couple times, before he found his voice. "I only seek to . . . to rejoin my people, and to make amends however I can. Sectars alone—without any Human contact—can change a man." Baltar opened his hands palm upward, waving them laterally. "You were there, Captain. You know that I didn't hesitate to inform you that Starbuck was trapped in that Raider. Then I pulled you both from the surf when you could have drowned, and he was already . . ." He paused as the young woman leaning over Starbuck winced. "I _breathed_ life back into him. Tell them, Apollo. I saved Starbuck. I saved you both. The Lords _used me_ to save this man!" He glanced at Ama accusingly. "Tell them!"

Apollo jumped in. "Do you honestly believe that we'll just forgive you, Baltar? You condemned an entire civilization when you betrayed the Colonies, you signed the death warrants of billions of Human Beings, in . . ." His voice caught a moment, then he exploded, "Including my brother! My mother! Damn you!" He stopped, fighting for control as his frame shook in rage. "And now . . . and now you think that by dragging Starbuck and I out of an undertow, that all is forgiven? How naïve . . . _stupid_, do you think we are?" Apollo asked in disbelief, quieter now, but his tone still biting.

"I was tried in absentia! Unable to offer anything in my own defence! Condemned, but never asked for an explanation!" Baltar returned in outrage. "I _did_ my time."

"_Really_," said Ryan drolly. "Depends on your interpretation of a 'life' sentence, I suppose."

Baltar ignored him. "Adama freed me from my sentence in exchange for the intelligence you needed to disable the scanners on that Base Ship. To destroy it!" He shook his head. "The slate is clear, Captain. _Freedom_, your father granted me, which is his power under the Colonial Charter. No laws were broken. It was all legal. I was granted _amnesty_."

"_Hello!_ You were _just_ colluding with the enemy!" Ryan reminded him poignantly. "Or maybe you were just visiting these Cylons and having tea, when they decided to drop by and kill us?"

"I was their _prisoner_!" Baltar replied, pulling at his thin, damp tunic, the fabric tearing, revealing pasty white flesh. "Look at these rags! The same ones you last saw me in on that blasted planet, Apollo! Do you _think_ that an ally of the Cylons wouldn't be afforded a change of garments? A decent diet?" He rubbed his considerably leaner waistline, knowing that while he was not exactly emaciated, he had certainly lost more than a few kilons. "I languished in their Brig right up until an archaic Base Ship started launching Colonial Vipers at them. Only then did Lucifer call on me for help. Then I saw my opportunity for escape, and knew if I could mislead them, I would give you the edge . . ."

"Are you insinuating that you were trying to help?" Apollo scoffed. He was so consumed by anger, it was difficult to think straight.

"I _did_ help! I diverted their forces to this planet. Had them looking for settlements that didn't exist. I prevented the destruction of your shuttle! I distracted them long enough . . ." Baltar hesitated. "You _did_ destroy them, didn't you? The Base Star?"

The captain nodded. "We did." He did not elaborate about the wormhole.

Baltar nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Images of the ever-antagonistic Lucifer being blasted into oblivion flittered joyously through his mind. "Then victory is ours!" He cleared his throat as they all looked at him distrustfully. He let out a breath, pointing at the old woman. "Ask the crone if you don't believe me! I don't understand _how_ she knows . . . but she _does_!" His voice rose an octave, and Ama cackled in obvious delight as his discomfiture. Baltar paused, collecting himself. Then, in a voice low and tremulous, he asked, "_Who_ are you? _What _do you want from me?"

"I am Ama, born of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer, and I also proudly sit on the recently elected Council of the Twelve."

"They elected a . . . _a witch_?" Baltar roared.Then, he swallowed hard as she set a penetrating stare on him that seemed to see right through to his soul. His voice was almost a whimper when he continued,"They'd insult such an esteemed office . . ."

"Oh hoh,_ now_ look at who's calling the cauldron black!" Ama laughed, before taking a deep breath, and pointing an gnarled finger his way. Her voice, throaty and menacing, seemed to resonate eerily when she spoke again. "I _know_ you, Baltar. And yes," she glanced at Apollo. "He speaks the truth. Or a variation of it, in any case. He _was_ a prisoner of the Cylons, and he _has_ considered both repentance and redemption, but his motives, alas, are not altogether altruistic. His heart is as indecisive, as his soul is black."

"Well, as the only present member of the Council of the Twelve, what would you have us do with him, Ama?" Ryan asked, nodding towards the jump tube while simultaneously grabbing the man roughly by the arm. "My mother always told me that one should keep a clean house. Personally, I'm all for putting out the trash on Garbage Day."

Baltar jumped to his feet, shaking off Ryan, accusing eyes all around him. "I was _innocent_! I believed in the Armistice, just as President Adar did! I never believed for one micron that the Cylons would ambush us at Cimtar!"

"Which of course explains why you suddenly had to get off the _Atlantia,_ just before the attack," Boomer yelled back. "You're timing was _interesting_."

"Lieutenant, I . . ."

"If you're telling the truth, then how did you come to be in charge of a Cylon Base Ship at Kobol?" Apollo growled.

"Under the pretence that I would betray you to the Cylons!" Baltar replied desperately, his hands clenched beseechingly before him. "I came close to losing my head when the new Imperious Leader summoned me after the Destruction, offering leniency to our people, and peace."

"You believed him?" Apollo asked in disgust. "You for one micron actually . . . _believed anything _that a _Cylon_ said?"

"Of course not!" Baltar replied. "But pretending to believe him and playing along was my only chance to meet with your father, telling him of the chaos in the Cylon Empire when the previous Imperious Leader was killed in the destruction of Carillon. It was his chance to destroy their capital. They had never been so fragile as they were then. My Base Ship, in orbit over Kobol at the time, had been directed to wait for my orders before doing anything."

"But they attacked instead," Apollo reminded him flatly, the memories still hauntingly vivid of that first strike on Kobol, and the ensuing events that were indelibly etched in his mind for all of eternity. _Serina . . . _

"I admit I might have been . . . _overconfident_ in my absolute control over the Base Ship." Baltar admitted. "But my intentions were good."

"No wonder the road to Hell has such good paving," sneered Ryan.

"You're_ lying_, Baltar!" His features flushed, Apollo jumped angrily to his feet at the same time as Ryan.

"Wait a minute, Apollo," Ryan put a hand on the captain's chest, holding him back.For a man of his age, he was surprisingly strong . . . or determined. "Look, we're the only ones in the Fleet that know Ball-Boy here is still alive, _and_ in the building." An enigmatic smile twisted his lips for a moment. "What say we take a little vote to drop this loser out the jump tube, and save your father and the other eleven Councillors the bother?"

Apollo seemed to hold his breath, obviously considering it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dayton walked onto the_ Pegasus' _Bridge like a man with a mission, his jaw set stubbornly. He paused, looking around, and then headed directly for Sheba. She was standing next to the main scanners, and turned to acknowledge him.

"No word, Commander Dayton," she told him, fanning a hand towards the scanners before them. Not surprisingly, he came to join her, standing over Raetic's shoulder and looking for himself. His eyes narrowed as he searched the screen for some sign of his friends. Some indication that the shuttle had survived. "There's still a lot of electromagnetic interference from the comet's impact. The planet's magnetic field is fluctuating wildly, and our communications are still in the turbo flush"

"Must be a living hell down there." He grunted briefly, looking wistfully through the viewport towards Planet 'P', then back down at the scanners. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head mutely.

The story the scanners told was horrible. The site of the comet's impact was now some two hundred and thirty kilometrons directly below them. Once the foothills of a rugged range of mountains, it was now a boiling cauldron right out of Hell itself. As the computer shifted through the various spectral bands, he could see the gargantuan crater, left by the comet. Where once forest and idyllic mountain valleys teeming with vast and complex ecosystemshad held sway, now the sea, formerly over a hundred kilometrons away, was pouring into the massive gouge in the crust, sending huge furious clouds of steam and volcanic ash high into the abused atmosphere. Long, spidery cracks spread out from the impact site, devouring lakes and rivers and ice, with huge gushing fountains of newly released magma blasting thousands of metrons into the sky. Angry clouds, like some mindless tormented Titan,boiled with lightning, and the sea was rent by blast after blast as cold water met boiling red rock shooting up out of Hell's bullet hole. Vicious shockwaves spread out, cracking stone and sending tsunami after tsunami to roar across the oceans, to obliterate whatever yet stood upon the other side. A massive black smear, destined to block the sun, was already being spread across the hemisphere.

"Yes," said Sheba, watching with fixated horror, as Planet 'P' continued to reel from the devastation. According to the scans, even the planet's rate of rotation had been altered. 'Thank God nobody lived down there. Human or otherwise."

"I once met a Black-Backed Bobak . . ." Dayton returned humourlessly and broke off, shaking his head, as the ship's orbit carried her past the site.

"You wish you had gone. You wonder if you could have made a difference." Sheba stated. He nodded briefly in agreement. She lightly placed a hand on his arm, confiding, "Me too."

"You did well," said Dayton, patting her hand in return.

She hesitated, looking him in the eye before asking, "You think so?"

"Yes. No question." Dayton nodded. "I know you're worried about Apollo. Your friends. _And _your father. Who wouldn't be? I want Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer to come back as much as you, Sheba. Your people need them. They need their heroes, and those three men are some of your finest. But, as a famous warrior on my world once said, 'War is cruel, and you cannot refine it.' We can only do what needs to be done, and you did. By your actions, you not only helped save the _Endeavour__, but also_ the Fleet. But that doesn't stop us from hurting. Wondering if we might have done better."

"Lords, you read me like a scan, Dayton. But . . . _how_ do you know? You were on the planet for most of this."

He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Well, I met a certain young flight officer in the OC who filled me in on everything I missed."

"Raetic." Sheba smiled.

"He's damn proud of his CO."

"Acting CO," she corrected him. "I'm not sure Commander Adama will be as proud. After all, I was supposed to stay with the Fleet."

"And why didn't you?"

"Because that Base Ship had two likely escape routes, and directly towards the Fleet was one of them." Her eyes sparkled with intensity. "I had to put the Pegasus between the Cylons and the Fleet. As a threat we were impressive, but in combat, defending the Fleet, we wouldn't have had much of a chance."

"Then you did the right thing."

She looked at the scanners, then back to him. "Who?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who was the warrior you quoted?"

"Oh. General Sherman, back during my country's Civil War."

"_Civil_ war? You fought amongst yourself?" She asked, her confusion on that point clear.

"Well, we were running out of enemies . . ." He lapsed off, smiling wryly. "I'll tell you another time. It's kind of complicated."

"He sounds wise, this Sherman."

"Or experienced. When you think about it, the face of war has never really changed. Regardless of the technology with which you fight, it's still a cruel, ugly business." Sheba just nodded. "You know, I think you deserve a medal, Captain."

"Me?"

"Yes." He raised a hand as she was about to object. "No, you do. Look, you took a ship that is barely sea . . . I mean space-worthy from the standpoint of battle, and you managed to get her where she was most needed, and probably did as much as anyone to save the _Abaddon__ and__ Endeavour _and send those Cylon bastards to Hell."

"Well, it wasn't much of a plan, really," she demurred. "I just did . . ."

"What any good soldier does. Sees what needs to be done, and does it to the limit of their strength. Another famous warrior of ours, General Patton, put it like this: 'An imperfect plan, implemented immediately and violently, will always succeed better than a perfect plan.'"

"Sounds like something my father would say," smiled Sheba.

"Some things are constant, I suspect," replied Dayton.

"What else did he say? This genberal . . . Patton?"

"Well . . ." said Dayton, half-smiling as he recalled the crusty general's famously acidic vocabulary. "He once said 'May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't.'"

"I think you and my father will get along very well," Sheba smiled.

"The way I hear it, we just need to find a room big enough to hold both our egos."

"I hear the Empyrean Ballroom is free . . ."

"Well then, in that case, I'll buy the first round."

XXXXXXXXXX

The small Raider shook and groaned as though she would be torn apart by the tumultuous vortex that they were hurtling through at speeds that Lucifer couldn't believe. One surprising, pervading fact permeated his data banks. He was still operative.

"Are our scanners functional, Centurion? Can you pick up either the Colonials or our Base Ship?"

"Negative. All-instrumentation-is-malfunctioning," the centurion replied. "Controls-are-not-responding."

Through the port, Lucifer could see and endlessly swirling maelstrom of colour and radiation. It almost overwhelmed his optical sensors, and like the fighter's instruments, he could see no sign of any vessel, Cylon or otherwise.

The fighter had launched from the Base Ship when it threatened to break up,and had immediately been propelled on a raging, whirling flight path that had separated them almost at once. Even with his internal data banks telling him that a mere two centars had passed, it seemed as though they had been on this ride for eternity. Of course, the company might have something to do with that. Still, the questions remained, would they survive, and if they did, where would they end up?

XXXXXXXXXXX

Baltar started to back away from Ryan, putting as much distance between him and the other man as he could. His eyes were glued to Apollo, awaiting an impromptu sentence. The young captain was obviously struggling with the moral dilemma.

"It would be cold-blooded _termination_." Baltar told Apollo, his voice tremulous. "Could you live with that the rest of your life, Captain?"

"An eye for an eye, Baldric." Ryan sneered, an ugly smile twisting his features as he slowly advanced on the traitor, with an intent to slowly stalk and terrorize the man. "After all, you seem to have adjusted fairly well to having betrayed billions of Human beings. An entire race of people, your own people,to a bunch of supercharged Terminators. Really, it won't be as bad as it should be. A minute of so of gasping for breath when we drop you out of the tube, and then nothing. Oh, maybe your eyes will pop out of your head and your tongue swell up, before you freeze solid, but you won't even feel it. You'll lose consciousness from hypoxia before anything else befalls you. Honestly, it's probably too good for you. Much better than what would happen to you back in the Fleet." He glanced at Apollo, adding as an afterthought, "You wouldn't have to get your hands dirty, Apollo. I'd be happy to play the Grim Reaper for you."

"Paddy . . ." Porter muttered quietly, urgently. He moved to his friend's side, taking him firmly by the arms, and locking eyes with him. "Look buddy, this isn't our fight. This guy didn't do anything to us personally. Let Apollo handle it. He's in charge here."

"Back off, Jimmy." Ryan replied, his body tense.

"Look, Canucklehead," Porter whispered in concern, lapsing back into English. "You're starting to act as crazy as Dickins. Dayton's not here, but I'm more than willing to clock you, if that's what it's going to take to simmer you down."

"Dayton would help me, and you know it." Ryan hissed, glaring at Baltar. "That bastard is . . . "

"He's the epitome of everything foul and disgusting in their society, but I'm not going to let you kill a man. _Thou shall not kill_. Even if you don't give a damn about your immortal soul, _I _do." Porter gave him a shake, his fists clenching the other's shirt and not letting go. "We're not eating Rotting Root anymore, Paddy. Torg and Bex are keeping the Devil company. It's over. _Deal_ with it." He paused to let that sink in. "There are rules and laws again, ethical _and_ legal. Get that through your thick skull before these people have to lock_you_ up."

Baltar held his breath, sensing a reprieve, though the guttural words meant nothing to him. The incensed man seemed to deflate a little.

"It's a slippery, downward spiral to moral degradation, Paddy-Ryan." Ama added, her voice firm, yet subdued, offering guidance, yet not insisting. She glanced at Apollo, reminding him, "Honour and duty, Captain." She looked back at Ryan. Slowly, and with obvious distaste, he moved away from Baltar, and sat down.

Apollo let out a rasping breath. Vigilante Justice. Quick, decisive, and certainly more than justified in the case of Baltar. He could just imagine the impact on the Fleet were they to bring the traitor back with them. Not to mention the direct repercussions on his father.Adama _had _granted Baltar amnesty for his crimes against the Colonial State in exchange for intelligence with which they could destroy a Cylon Base Ship. He would be made to look like a fool, if Baltar was to suddenly and unexpectedly reappear. And now Apollo knew that Baltar had been a prisoner of the Cylons, and didn't truly deserve to be retried for further crimes against the Colonial nation, yet that would be the predictable course of events. He would be tried and convicted despite a lack of evidence, simply because he was the Betrayer of the Twelve Colonies of Man. Lynch Law versus Justice.

"You're the voice of State here, Ama." Apollo swallowed. He would be saving his father from humiliation if they did push Baltar out the jump tube. Oh, it was entirely too easy to rationalize that it might be kinder to murder a man that had actually saved him and Starbuck, rather than consign him to a prejudiced tribunal that would have convicted him long before it was convened.

"Surely you're not asking _me_ to be the voice of reason?" Ama replied with an amused smile.

"You're on the Council." Apollo replied, not missing the irony that he was asking a Councilwoman to take the lead in a situation where he was in charge.

"Choose, Apollo. But remember, there is much more at stake here than Baltar's fate." Ama replied.

"One more thing . . ." Paye inserted solemnly from where he leaned over Starbuck. "You shove Baltar out that jump tube, Starbuck will have one less donor for blood that he desperately needs." He glanced at his biomonitor, then back at the captain. "I'm sitting here wondering _when—_not _if—_his heart is going to stop again. Your friend is bleeding to death, Apollo. If you execute Baltar, you could be signing Starbuck's death warrant as well."


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Boomer!Get the lead out!"

The words seemed to pull Starbuck out of the immuring fog that had blanketed him so comfortingly. It was Ryan's voice. He was sure of it. It was in the native language of the Earthlings. He raised his head slightly, and gazed around blearily, wondering what the unusual phrase meant, not having the energy to try to figure out yet one more Earth colloquialism.Then the Earthman spoke again, probably repeating it, this time in Colonial Standard. The shuttle seemed to surge forward, trembling as the pilot coaxed all he could out of her engines. Starbuck glanced out the viewports, seeing they were again in space. He sighed with relief that they had escaped the planet.

Cassie was reaching above him, opening wide the line on a fluid bag. She was looking behind him, obviously at someone out of his line of sight, muttering in clear concern, "It's the _last_ one."

Pain squeezed the breath out of him, but he knew that if he mentioned it to her, she would dose him with something that would send him back to oblivion. Somehow he just had the feeling he should be wide awake for this, whatever it was. Maybe it had something to do with hearing Ama's throaty voice praying quietly in the background, bargaining with Triquetra to spare him. He hoped fervently that Triqueta was in a receptive mood. His senses seemed acutely in tune with everything around his condition, that_ couldn't _be good. He'd once heard that an amazing clarity of thought often preceded death, but he _wasn't_ dying. He coughed, feeling as though the fluid bag was being poured directly into his lungs and he was trying to breathe underwater. Pain wracked his body, and he struggled to sit up, so he could catch his breath.

"_Innamorato_."

"Son!"

Gentle, supportive hands were on him, helping to prop him up until his coughing eased. Cool mist that calmed his struggling breaths blew gently on his face, but made him feel chilled. It was helping, yet making him more uncomfortable at the same time. Luana gripped one hand, and Chameleon the other, both in constant attendance as they gazed at him morosely. He'd tell them to cheer up, but he simply didn't have the breath to spare just now. He squeezed their hands instead, trying to reassure them.

"Better?" Luana asked, blinking back tears as she caressed his cheek, brushing hair back from his eyes.

He nodded, comforted by her touch. She'd always loved to stroke his hair, claiming she'd wanted to do it for so long while she admired him from a distance that she was making up for lost time. He closed his eyes, opening them again as Chameleon tucked a blanket around him. His old man looked haggard and unshaven, his normally immaculate suit, rumpled and dirty. Starbuck smiled weakly at his father in encouragement, trying to buoy his spirits.

"Is the _Pegasus_ on our scanner?"

Apollo's voice.Starbuck started to look for his friend, but a harsh cough seized him, leaving him gasping for breath once again.

"Now that we're out of that electromagnetic quagmire, yes. We're above the ionosphere. I'll hail her, and request her to rendezvous with us. It should only be five centons or so."

Boomer. He was piloting, obviously. There was something comforting about that.

"Have med tech Zeb standing by in the landing bay with IV fluids and volume expanders! I want the medical records of the entire crew for type and screen. I want a surgical theatre, or the nearest thing to it, ready for an emergency splenectomy and laparatomy!"

Starbuck recognized the man's voice, but before he could figure it out, another voice that grated on his very soul interrupted his thoughts.

"It seems that fate has once again tied Lieutenant Starbuck and I together. It won't be so easy to pretend I don't exist once the crew of an entire Battlestar has seen me."

Nausea gripped Starbuck when he realized who was speaking. It was Baltar. He held on to his memory of punching the traitor in the face, keeping it close to his heart while misery, pain and exhaustion seemed to drain him mentally and physically. Then . . .

"Don't be so sure of that, Baltar.This is Commander _Cain_'s ship we're talking about."

With considerable effort, Starbuck glanced over to see Apollo staring malevolently at the traitor. His friend was in good form, outraged indignation and righteousness radiating off him in waves. It was _so_ Apollo, and it filled Starbuck with an inexplicable joy to watch the confrontation. The captain studied Baltar disparagingly before adding, "You'll be lucky to get out of the landing bay in one piece."

"In that case, maybe we should start harvesting the useful bits _before_ we land," Ryan added optimistically. "Especially with Starbuck needing more blood." He glowered at the traitor, narrowing his eyes with a malevolence that made Baltar ooze backwards into his seat.

"_What_ . . .?" Starbuck croaked, his face wrinkling in agitation as he realized the significance of their words. This time he found his voice, determined to stop their evil machinations. "Baltar's blood?" He shook his head, his energy waning when he needed it most. "No frackin' way . . ." He coughed, the sound wet and harsh to his own ears, ". . . not _Baltar's_."

"Hush, _Innamorato_." Luana whispered, as she brushed her lips over his fingertips. "You need it."

"You'll take it and you'll like it." Chameleon added in a no-nonsense tone more appropriate for a child. He shrugged at Luana.

"It's pouring into you even as we speak," Baltar chuckled, apparently amused by the warrior's reaction. "I wonder if that makes us blood brothers, Starbuck?"

Starbuck looked up in horror to see an almost empty blood bag attached to a dark red line. He moved to pull at it weakly, disgusted by the fact that Baltar's bodily fluids were gushing into him, and his friends were not only allowing it, but had apparently engineered the plot. Somebody easily intercepted his hand, stopping him. Frack, it could only mean he was at death's door . . . _maybe_.

Baltar's laughter rang in his ears. "Not to worry, Lieutenant Starbuck, it was a good yahren. And apparently it's in limited supply around these parts which makes it even more valuable than the finest of ambrosa." The traitor smiled wryly. "Ironically, the fact that I have _more_ is all that is keeping me from being shoved out a jump tube just now."

Starbuck shook his head, breathing heavily. They were keeping Baltar alive because of _him_! Cassie adjusted the flow on the life mask. The warrior pulled it aside to look around desperately. He had to do something . . . "_Apollo_?" he gasped, seeing his friend abruptly move his way. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his strength as the med tech replaced the oxygen yet again.

"Right here, buddy," Apollo told him, gripping his forearm.

Starbuck reached up shakily, grabbing the captain's flight jacket. Those familiar green eyes gazed down on him in rapt attention. As usual, Apollo was wearing his emotions on his sleeve, and it was easy to see the concern and fear lurking beneath his rigidly controlled facade. Along with Ama praying in the background, it suddenly made Starbuck realize that his overwhelming weariness was more than just a symptom of his injuries. _The odds are, you're dying, Bucko_. Curiously, that didn't terrify him quite as much as it should. Maybe he was just too tired to care. In fact, he found it strange, and just a little bit rude, that nobody had bothered to mention it to him. Then again, he probably wouldn't have the courage to tell Apollo if he was taking his last breath either. "It's been one Hades of a ride . . ." He coughed again, wincing with pain, pushing the life mask aside.

"_No_." Apollo returned determinedly, gripping Starbuck's hand and leaning closer. His eyes locked on his friend's. "This _isn't_ goodbye, Starbuck. We'll be on board the _Pegasus_ in a couple centons." He looked forward. "Boomer?"

"_Pegasus_ control has us now, Captain. ETA, two point three centons." His voice was tense as he added, "Don't give up yet, Bucko." He paused. "We've been in worse situations than this."

Apollo nodded at Starbuck's smile of recognition. "You hear, buddy? You'll be just fine in no time."

Starbuck nodded tolerantly as Apollo tried to hoodwink him. The captain couldn't bluff his way out of a paper bag. Wet. With holes in it."Right." He took a couple gasping breaths before adding, "It's a . . . a bad trade." Then he moaned aloud, gritting his teeth as some bastard pressed on his abdomen. Agony seized him in its jaws and shook him until he screamed. Pain washed over him in waves, radiating out from his stomach and stabbing him in the back and chest. He arched his back and reflexively tried to push at his tormentor, but Apollo grabbed both hands, preventing his feeble attempt. _Lords, I feelas weak as a baby felix! Can't even __ even _Voices blurred as bodies spoke and moved in a frenzy above him, making him feel like the epicentre of a vortex. He was out of control and spiralling downward, into the black and vacuous unknown. Abruptly, the pain eased and he gradually felt himself fading back into reality. _Life._ That damned life mask was back in place and he simply lay there breathing for a few moments, as sweat poured off him, feeling familiar and loving hands comforting him. It was kind of nice.Finally, he opened his eyes, searching for and then focussing back on Apollo. "Get rid of Baltar . . . _now_," he rasped.

Apollo shook his head decisively, his eyes conspicuously bright with moisture. "You're worth _ten_ of him."

A flicker of a smile crossed Starbuck's lips. Apollo's voice was quieter and had an echo effect, as though he was further away, which was strange since he was right there, his hand still tightly gripping Starbuck's. The lieutenant whispered in reply, "Ten? At _least_ a hundred." Apollo smiled in return, but it didn't reach his eyes. The worse part was that Starbuck knew he was running out of time to improve his one-liners. The warrior shuddered involuntarily, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone. "Frack . . . s'cold."

"_Don't _. . ." Luana murmured brokenly. He could see tears flowing down her cheeks unchecked, as she leaned closer. "Stay with me." She touched her forehead to his. "_Starbuck_."

Starbuck released Apollo's hand, gently touching Luana's hair, caressing her cheek, wiping away a tear, "Love you, Lu . . . always will . . ." His voice choked off with emotion. He wasn't ready for this. How many centars ago had they been sealed?

"I love you . . ." she replied tremulously, her voice breaking again as she raised her head. "That's why you can't leave me, Starbuck." Her face contorted with emotion. "I _need_ you! I _can't_ do this without you! I don't _want_ to."

His eyes filled with tears, so despondent did she sound. "_Lu _. . ." He let out a low moan, gasping for breath again. "Frack . . . _hurts_. . ."

"That's how you know you're still alive, son." Chameleon inserted, leaning down and kissing his forehead. "Please Starbuck,_don't_ give up." He glanced up at the intravenous line. The last drops of precious liquid were being absorbed.

The shuttle changed trajectory.

"Final approach . . ." Starbuck whispered hoarsely as those that he loved the most gathered around him, keeping a vigil. Ama's voice seemed so distant now, but almost comforting. Hopefully, she'd put in a good word with Triquetra just in case the goddess was really up there somewhere waiting for him.

"Almost there," Apollo promised him, a tear trailing down his cheek. The edges of his face looked blurry. "Hang on, buddy."

Starbuck could feel the shuttle set down, felt his body rock in response to the landing. The voices around him were just murmurs now, except for Luana's. Somehow his head was in her lap, and she was rocking him in her embrace, her eyes locked on his, as though she could keep him alive by sure will and determination. Encouragement and endearments were whispered continuously in his ear. Still, her brown eyes blurred as an encroaching greyness slowly engulfed him. Blissfully, his pain was retreating at the same rate. He was either dying or surrendering to a potent cocktail of narcotics.

Frankly, it was a little disconcerting that he didn't know which.

XXXXXXXXXX

The shuttle ride back to the _Galactica_ seemed endless. Adama sat beside Cain, gazing down on his slack visage, partially covered by a life-mask and bio-sensor array. He watched his chest rise and fall, praying it, like the beeping of the support machinery,wouldn't suddenly stop. By the looks of it, the Juggernaut had had a massive stroke, one of the risks of the implant procedure as outlined by Doctors Salik and Sobek.

Adama felt like a first class fool.Why in God's name had he allowed Cain to accompany him to the _Abaddon_ Base Ship? Why had he joined his old friend in ignoring physician's orders? Had he become so blinded by Cain's seemingly incredible recovery, that he had suddenly thought him indestructible, like so many others had through the yahrens? He shook his head, as he mentally kicked himself for falling for the latest Cain ploy. He'd become the victim of another infamous Juggernaut feint.

_Idiot._

He let out a breath of relief, and stood back, when Dr. Salik and his med techs rushed aboard as soon as the hatch opened. Within microns, they were transferring Cain onto a hoverstretcher and rushing towards the Life Station. He followed more slowly, knowing it would be some time before they had any definitive news. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed.

_Commander Adama, to the bridge, please_rang Athena's voice, over the comm. "_Commander Adama, report to the bridge, please_

"Commander Adama," he said, into the nearest telecom. "On my way."

XXXXXXXXXX

"What's Starbuck's condition?" Dayton asked Zeb tensely as the med tech stood by awaiting the opening of the shuttle's hatch. His med kit was slung over his shoulder, and two bags of some life sustaining fluid were clenched tightly in his grip.

"Critical." Zeb replied, with an anxious sideways glance at the Earthman and the acting CO of the _Pegasus_. Like most aboard, he'd heard of the men from Earth, but had yet to meet one. He felt a bit uncertain, as this one seemed well-accustomed to command and immediate response. He spared a brief glance at Sheba, then looked back at the other. "It's going to be too close to predict, Commander Dayton."

Then the hatch opened.

"Go . . ." Sheba lightly place a hand on the med tech in encouragement, not wanting to waste a milli-centon. The med tech sprung forward, disappearing inside the transport. A micron later Apollo—damp and dishevelled, but relatively unharmed—and Boomer emerged, propelling Baltar towards them. The warriors' features were strained with fatigue and worry.

Sheba sucked in a little breath at the first sight of the traitor. Baltar was gulping in deeps breaths of recycled air and smiling in delight, much like a man breathing in fresh air planetside for the first time in sectars. There was something annoying about it. Thank the twelve Lords that Boomer had given her a heads up on who was aboard, as well as Starbuck's medical condition, preparing her mentally, as well as launching a semblance of a plan into action.

"Who is he?" Dayton asked, sighing with relief as a bruised and dirty Ryan brought up the rear.

"Baltar," Sheba replied, her tone managing to convey all the disgust and hatred she felt for the former member of the Quorum of Twelve, and assassin of mankind. She could feel herself bristle in response to the traitor's unctuous smile when he saw her. Her fists clenched reflexively.

"Ah, Lieutenant . . . excuse me, _Captain_ Sheba. How pleasant to see you again," Baltar effused, then he added with an oily smirk, "I'd like a protector and a socialator . . . not necessarily in that order."

Sheba scowled at him, motioning to two warriors standing by. "Take him to the brig."

"The brig?" Baltar's smile slipped. "But I've done nothing_ wrong_. I was a prisoner of the Cylons! I saved Starbuck_ and _Apollo, for Sagan's sake!"

"If that's the case, I'll offer you an official apology after Tribunal. I may even carve it on your deathstone. Until then . . ." she pointed towards the turbo lift. "The brig. Get him out of my sight." She fought to keep her voice level, but it cracked even so.

"Yes, ma'am." replied one.

"Oh, and don't forget the decon process," she added. "We don't want to contaminate the ship any more than we already have."

"Yes, ma'am!" said the other, his smile unconcealed.

"Captain Apollo!" Baltar begged of the warrior as he was propelled forward.

Apollo shrugged. "I'm not in charge here, Baltar. This isn't my ship."

"I'll be sure to put in a good word for you, Ballbearing!" Ryan shouted out, crossing to grip Dayton's hand firmly, startling when the other pulled him into a tight embrace, crushing him. "Well, I never knew . . ." he gasped.

"Are you okay?" Dayton studied his friend for a moment, before swinging his gaze to the shuttle where Porter was now emerging.

"Yeah, we're fine.Cassiopeia too." Ryan assured him.

"Thank God for that. And like it or not, I even prayed for you."

"Then I suggest you offer up a few more. The kid's not looking too good, Mark."

"I heard." Dayton nodded, crossing to grip Porter's hand and pull him into an embrace, slapping him heartily on the back, despite the fact he would now have to go through decon again."I knew you'd make it back, you old root digger!"Then he glanced at the transport waiting.

"Well, somebody has to keep an eye on you and Paddy." Porter replied.

"You sound like my mother." Dayton stared at the shuttle expectantly.

"I _look_ like your mother." Porter added, raising a hand in self-defence as Dayton made to cuff him in jest.

"Mother Dayton was a handsome woman." Ryan intoned in a crone's voice, joining them. "As handsome as a mud fence, some might say."

"Several did." Dayton added, waiting anxiously.

As if on cue, the medical team manoeuvred an unconscious Starbuck through the opening, immediately strapping him tightly to a hoverstretcher. They took a crucial centon to reorganize medical lines, monitors and equipment while Luana and Chameleon looked on anxiously. Then they were flying across the landing bay towards the largest decon chamber, Paye pulling equipment from Zeb's bag and barking orders.

"Lords, don't tell me they're going to . . ." Dayton muttered in disbelief, watching Ama following in their wake, her wild hair billowing out behind her as if walking face first into a breeze.

"It doesn't get much more clean than a decon chamber, and our Life Station isn't exactly up to specs yet," Sheba inserted. She had agreed with Zeb that the Life Station was basically useless right now. With all hatches refitted and bulkheads solid, electrical power, comm and datalines to the main computer were once more active, but it was still basically a bare room lined with shelves and smelling of fresh paint. The Foundry and Electronics ships, along with a score of techs,had been working feverishly toput the _Pegasus _back together, but for now, the decon chamber would have to suffice."We added some extra lighting and Zeb stocked the room as best he could on short notice, so hopefully it'll be okay. Dr. Paye decided that five centons in decontamination might be five centons too many for Starbuck."

There was the briefest of hesitations at the hatch to the decon chamber as the hoverstretcher was pushed inside, and Zeb paused to dissuade Luana and Chameleon from entering. Luana tried to push herself past the med tech, but he stood firm. She ranted, raved, threatened, and finally banged her fists on the cold metal door when the it slid shut, barring them. Together, the bride and the conman stood outside the chamber, gazing through the window for a moment, the old man's arm creeping tentatively around Lu's shoulders as she stood there vibrating in anger and fear. Then with a howl of despair, the young Empyrean woman slumped against the hatch, sliding down to the deck. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders quivering as quiet sobs wracked her body. Chameleon kneeled down beside her, pulling her into his arms.

Ama came to a stop before them, raising her arms to the heavens as she took in a deep breath. Her hair was still streaming out behind her.

"How does she do that with the hair?" Ryan murmured quietly, needing to break the mood as his heart went out to the young woman.

"Hey, hair products must be almost as advanced as their technology." Porter replied, blinking his eyes, suddenly overcome by allergies . . . or _something_.

"Somehow I don't think _Head and Shoulders_ has anything to do with this." Dayton inserted with a frown, feeling his chest tighten. Starbuck was almost like a son. Almost.

"_Head and Shoulders_?" The others replied together, looking at their commander.

"It's the only one I could remember." He shrugged in apology, and then blinked as a diffuse light appeared to encircle the necromancer. A golden light, like an aura of energy, that grew in intensity until it penetrated the coldness of his heart, and filled him with an inexplicable hope. He_had_ to be imagining it.

"Jaysus Murphy." Ryan gasped.

"Holy mother of God." Porter added in awe.

Or maybe not.

XXXXXXXXXX

Now that he was lying down on the tiny bench in the decon chamber next to Starbuck's, his knees bent and crammed up against the wall, Apollo realized just how exhausted he felt. Utterly and completely drained, such as he hadn't been since the Academy survival ordeal in his senior yahren. His muscles seemed to melt into the hard surface, and when he closed his eyes, he was suddenly adrift on a cloud of solitude.A harsh, wet cough abruptly ended the moment, and he lunged upward, hacking thick sputum into his palm, his chest burning with discomfort.

"Just great . . ." he muttered, glancing at the sticky green saliva and reluctantly wiping it on his damp uniform, reminded of his son and endless disgusting organic matter that the boy conveniently disposed of on clothing or furniture. _Boxey_. Lords, how many days had it been since he had seen or even talked to his son?

Way, _way_ too many.

The toll of command. It wasn't the first time he had thought of the promise he had made to Serina, that he would care for Boxey and love him as though he was his own flesh and blood. For the most part he had done so, assimilating him into his own day-to-day existence, but a strike captain spent many long centars on duty, and while on a mission he often disappeared for days on end. It wasn't the ideal family environment for a seven-yahren-old boy. Sagan, they seemed to spend more time catching up, than in establishing any kind of normal routine that would only be interrupted by one more crisis anyhow. Boxey's increasingly disruptive and disobedient behaviour was the result of that.

At least Adama had had Ila to give their children's lives normalcy and to ground them as a family.Routine. Structure. A constant loving presence, especially while their father was far away for extended periods. Basics that eased a child's path to maturity. Apollo couldn't give that to Boxey, no matter how much he'd like to. He shook his head, realizing he hadn't even had the time, opportunity, or will to pursue a serious relationship after he had finally stopped grieving for his wife. At least consciously, though there was a wound there, he had to admit, that would never fully heal. And now that Sheba was firmly ensconced in the command structure of the newly-returned_ Pegasus_, it was even more unlikely that she would ever fill that role for Boxey. She certainly wasn't going to abandon her career to care for somebody else's child while Apollo climbed the ladder of command.

The problem was he loved Sheba. Differently than Serina, for one Human Being could never replace another, but it was still love. No other woman had evoked the same level of emotion from him as Sheba. And while admittedly, that emotion could often be described as frustration, anger, or disbelief, the deep, raw, at times almost mindless passion she had awakened in him had made it all worth while. Sheba made him feel alive in a way that he hadn't since . . .

_Oh, Serina._

She had been a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn't afraid to go after it. _It_ was _him_. Serina had lifted him out of the bleakness that had swept over him after Zac and his mother had been killed during the Destruction, giving him a glimmer of hope, and filling a vacuous emptiness that had left him angry and bitter.She was his angel of love, showing him that life was still precious, even in the aftermath of chaos and death. And she had left him a son, to remind him day after day, why he was toiling endlessly towards an uncertain future.

After they had reunited with the _Pegasus_, slowly, but surely, Sheba had done the same. But it was like a stealth infiltration, as she wound her way into Apollo's heart and mind over the long sectars. A rivalry, a tentative friendship, and finally a budding relationship. Two emotionally cautious, often temperamental adults, both healing from their own personal losses, dancing around one another in a mating ritual that had most brazen individuals rolling their eyes.

Personal happiness, or parental responsibility and satisfaction? Why were the paths so divergent? Why couldn't they parallel at some point? Perhaps even meet? He'd considered settling for a domestically-minded young woman who would be a mother figure, and be quite happy to raise his son, celebrate Apollo's successes, and be content waiting for him at the end of each duty shift or mission. But that little shudder of distaste reminded him that he hadn't ever been attracted to a woman whose world revolved around matching décors.

Lords, his best friend was fighting for his life in the next chamber, and here he was consumed in his own personal problems. Then again, maybe it was thinking of Starbuck that started him on this line of thought. For all his faults, one thing that Apollo could say about his friend was that he followed his instincts in matters of the heart, no matter the consequences, or how little sense it made to those around him. And strangely, it wasn't like he had left a trail of debris that marked his way. Each woman he had moved on from had somehow found it in her heart to forgive Starbuck. Athena considered him a friend.Aurora never failed to look him up. Even Cassiopeia still retained some fondness towards him. When all was said and done, he'd finally found that elusive but special woman in Luana, and had sealed with her.It was so typically Starbuck to go out on a high note. _Live life to the fullest, buddy, with no regrets, because no one else will do it for you_. . .

Was it finally time he took a page from the Book of Starbuck?

He sighed, coughing again and once again spitting up thick, foul mucous.He really didn't have _time_ to get sick. He glanced at the window, certain he had seen Sheba peek in.

As unlikely as it was that this relationship would work, he knew for certain that he had to _try_.For once, he had to put himself first, and find some way to include Boxey. Sheba had certainly erased the stress of working in the same line of command when she had taken this promotion. So, in a strangely convoluted way, they were both trying to make things work. While it wasn't exactly the typical nuclear family, maybe they _could_ find some new and creative way to succeed. He sighed, not having any idea of what that would look like just now, but knew that more than anything, it would require effort on both their parts. Enormous effort.

A _buzz_ sounded, alerting him to the conclusion of his five centons in decon.

Sheba was waiting for him just outside the chamber.Luana, Lia, Chameleon, and Boomer were gathered outside Starbuck's impromptu surgical chamber, waiting for word from the medical team. Ama was still poised before the door, arms raised and face tilted upward, like a statue of some Empyrean Queen or deity of old, standing guard. It would likely be centars before they heard anything, unless it was the dourest of news. Apollo briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember how many times he'd waited to hear if somebody he loved was going to live or die. It was so quiet for an area filled with people. Then he realized . . .

"The Earthmen left?" Apollo asked, a little surprised as he took Sheba's arm, giving them a measure of privacy as they moved away from the others.

"They went to find Baker.Apparently, Dayton left him in the OC . . ." Sheba raised her eyebrows, "_Asleep_."

"Passed out, is more likely." Apollo mused.

"They _do_ enjoy their ale," she conceded, looking him over critically, wrinkling her nose at the aroma of sea salt and sweat. "You should have a turbowash and get some rest." She fingered his damp tunic. "Make that about ten turbowashes. As good as it is to have you back, you look like several layers of Hades Hole. Compressed." There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but he could see the concern in her lovely brown eyes.

"When was the last time that _you_ rested?" he asked, noting the dark circles under her eyes. "You don't exactly look like buttercups in spring yourself." In spite of it all, he couldn't help but smile.

"On the turbo lift on my way down here," she returned ruefully."I think I actually dozed off."

"For ten microns." He added, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

"Yes," she grinned playfully. "Well, okay. Fifteen. But, I'm totally refreshed now. As good as new."

"Right," he nodded in understanding, having been that exhausted from duty calling more than a few times in his life. "It seems the more we have to do, the less time we have to do it in."

"That's a bit vague," she replied, turning her head to the side to consider him. "What are you getting at?"

"You and I," Apollo replied, taking a step closer and resting his hands on her arms. He gazed into her eyes. "I was just thinking that we're going to have to make a concerted effort to see more of each other. And here we both are, exhausted and overworked . . . as usual."

Sheba just looked at him for a moment, as though trying to read his mind. "Is this where you tell me it isn't going to work out ?" Her voice broke, and she blinked furiously and straightened her shoulders. Her lips pursed in that familiar little pout that he knew and loved so well, and then she glanced downward, hiding her face and thoughts from his probing eyes.

"No," he replied, tipping her chin up, and leaning forward to gently caress her sweet lips with him own."Quite the opposite, actually. This is where I tell you that I love you, and that I promise you that we're going to find a way to make this work.Like warriors always do, we'll find a way to overcome. I've wasted a lot of time, always putting duty first, and not delegating enough to my subordinates. In fact I was deluding myself, using duty and maybe even parenting as excuses to hide behind. Life is _supposed_ to be about finding a certain balance, and with you here on the _Pegasus_, yeah, it's going to take some sacrifices." Then he paused, looking at her uncertainly. "But that applies to me no less than you. If you're up for that . . ."

"I'm_ more_ than up for that . . ." she whispered, as a tear spilled down her face. She leaned close, her lips touching his, her hand lightly stroking his face . . .

"_Captain Sheba, report to the Bridge,_" the comm interrupted them. "_Captain Sheba to the Bridge._"

XXXXXXXXXX

Over and over again, the Earthmen discussed the last few days. They knew there would be no word on Starbuck's condition for some time, and sitting on the deck in the landing bay wasn't conducive to old astronauts. Boomer had assured them he would send word as soon as they had it.Besides, from crash landing the _Endeavour_ on Planet 'P' , to being baited by Sire Uri on the _Rising Star_, and finally Dickins and Hummer entering the wormhole, the four men had a lot of catching up to do. And that took a lot of Empyrean ale.

"Man, that comet . . ." said Dayton, when a voice broke into their conversation.

"Commander Dayton?" He turned, and beheld some familiar and reasonably cute female, with a microphone in her hand, and a guy with a camera behind her.

_Oh shit! Apparently, they were back in the Fleet!_

"Commander, I'm Zara from the _IFB._ Uh, Inter-Fleet Broadcasting. And we'd like to get a few words from you and your people, on your experiences down on the planet. Now that it's all over, after this incredible experience, what can you tell us about your adventure?"

She shoved the mic into his face, and he suspected that whoever had used it last had an obvious love of something resembling garlic. Annoyed at this intrusion, and never having liked the press at home, he turned, "Yeah. Yeah, I have a few words. We head down there to help out, and end up encountering untamed wilderness, Cylons, torture chambers, a comet, and every horrifying experience known to civilised man, including having to actually use an Apple computer, and when we get back, what do we get?" he held up his mug, and raised his voice, glaring, as if irate beyond words. "All we get is _lite _beer. You ever taste _LITE __beer_?"

"Uhh . . ." Zara looked completely lost and confused as she looked around the bar, back at Dayton's equally unimpressed team, then she sighed and glanced at the camera man. "That's a wrap. We'll come back later." Whereupon she and her remora slunk away, and left the men in peace.

Dayton returned to his crew, and after a few silent seconds, wherein the few patrons in the place were staring at them, the _Endeavour_ crew erupted in laughter. Baker tried to take a sip, but ended up sputtering and choking as the uncontrollable laughter continued.

"Barkeep! I need some density in this!" hollered Ryan, pointing to the contents of his mug. He slapped Dayton on the back. "Lord Thunderin' Jaysus, Mark. How do you do it?"

Dayton smiled with a satisfaction that could only be derived from pissing off the press. Something he'd have to get over if he was to assume the position of Earth Liaison Officer. "It's a gift."

"Oh . . .man!" said Baker. "Dick would have loved that, Mark. Ben and Lynn, too." He at last regained control, and raised his glass. "To Ben and Lynn." They all toasted, and swallowed deeply.

"So what's happening with Uri?" Dayton asked, finally settling down, but feeling strangely dissociated from the events Uri had set in motion. It was the first time in thirty years that they had been separated for any significant amount of time, and some pompous blow-hard had tried to take down one of his men. Two of them actually. Ryan had done a little time in the Brig as a result. Thankfully, with a little help from Chameleon and Ama, they had managed to sort it out admirably.

"Well, with the rescue mission, wormhole, Cylons and comet, the Tribunal was delayed.Uri's under house arrest, the way I hear it," Porter explained, raising his hand to the barkeep for another round. "Charged with blackmail, extortion and something resembling perjury, among other things. Which I understand is one long stretch in the slammer, under Colonial law."

"How did_ you_ do in the slammer?" Dayton asked Ryan, seeing the other stiffen momentarily before he grinned and shrugged. _Not so good_.

"Hey, at least it was clean, and they fed me. Compared to our holiday at the Torg & Bex Bed and Breakfast, it was the Waldorf-Astoria." Ryan waved a hand inconsequentially. "No manual labour. No rotting root. I tried to explain about the daily tot of grog due a man of my measure, but they wouldn't have none of it."

"Ryan, the American Navy did away with the rum ration in 1862, and I somehow doubt they were affording the _prisoners_ a tot a day." Dayton chuckled.

"Making them the only _dry_ Navy on the planet, ironically." Ryan sparred. "Now, the Royal Navy was, of course, much more civilised. They didn't abolish the practice until 1970. Besides, you're Air Force. What would you know about sailing?"

"What about the _Canadian_ Navy?" Baker asked, as a pitcher of ale arrived at their table.

"There's a _Canadian_ Navy?" Dayton ribbed him, his face artfully shocked. "So _that _explains those boats I saw on the Great Lakes!" He took a sip. "God! Life's just full of surprises, ain't it? Who'd they rent 'em from, eh?"

"Royal Canadian Yacht Club." Ryan smirked, laughing along with his friends. "Ah, yes. The Canadians." He grinned, standing and shouting out, "_Splice the mainbrace_!" The few others in the OC stared at him in compete bafflement before going back to their drinks once again. Ryan took charge of the pitcher, filling their mugs, and then with a glance at an approving Dayton, he filled a fifth which he set aside at the head of the table. "The Canadian Navy didn't abolish the practice until 1972, proving thereby that they were the most civilised of all."

"And the drunkest," Baker added, nodding his thanks at the still-standing man.

"That too." Ryan agreed with a grin. "But hey, it's a dirty job, and somebody had to do it." He cleared his throat, placing a hand on his chest. "My friends, the time has come to raise our glasses and drink to our dear friend, Captain Dick Dickins."

Three other chairs scraped across the floor, and the men rose to their feet.

"Mark." Ryan nodded solemnly, the mood shifting drastically.

Just below the surface, Dayton could feel the pain, the loss, but couldn't find the words, or didn't have the strength of heart to say them. Just how did you say goodbye to a man who had been a brother, living his life completely and irrevocably entwined with your own for thirty years? He shook his head helplessly at the others, and then looked at the abandoned glass sitting conspicuously at the table for five. Ryan's hand gripped his shoulder supportively, and he was thankful for it, as always. He sighed, before taking a deep breath and singing, not saying, the only thing that came to mind.

"_Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne."_

He paused, blinking eyes that misted over, reminded of good times and bad, and hoping against hope that Dick was on his way safely to Earth._Hug my family for me, my friend. Tell them I love them._

Then a moment later, Paddy continued in his lilting tenor, and the rest of them joined in, "For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne."

XXXXXXXXXX

If ever there was a moment when Sheba felt she had reached a breaking point, this was it. Her father had collapsed. Had been rushed back to the Life Station on the _Galactica_, though what he was doing out of there, she hadn't quite figured out. A massive stroke, Commander Adama had said, which had either been caused by the implant, or had precipitated the destruction of the implant. The Juggernaut hadn't regained consciousness, and nobody had a definitive prognosis at this point. If anything, her father was in worse shape than he was _before_ the surgery.

"Sheba."

She felt numb. Locked in her own little world of pain and regret. Why had she pushed her father into taking the risk? Why hadn't she left well enough alone? The responsibilities of command came crashing down on her all at once, leaving her feel as though she would be crushed beneath the weight.

_ How was a warrior to endure it?_

"_Sheba_!"

Green eyes stared into her own, and she became aware of being held in a gentle but determined grip as Apollo gave her a light shake, tearing her free of the emotional miasma that she had plunged into. Apparently, fifteen microns of sleep in two days was inadequate.

"I'm okay," she whispered, sensing the eyes of her bare bones Bridge crew looking on in concern, not only on her behalf, but on their own.

"Commander, we're on our way." Apollo told his father over the comm. "We'll be there in fifteen centons." He glanced at the communications officer. "Have a shuttle standing by." Then to Lieutenant Roz, "You're in charge, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," she replied to his retreating back as Apollo led Sheba from the Bridge.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was an unusual sound that aroused Baltar from his fitful slumber. For a centon, he couldn't remember where he was, then as his eyes gradually focused,the walls began closing in around him, and he shot upward in panic.

"Lucif . . .!" He choked off the word when he spotted the vid-scanner on the wall.

The Brig.

"Feeding time, Baltar," the guard announced wryly, as the transparent door slid shut behind him. The same sound that had awakened him. The guard's expression, which lingered in Baltar's mind, reminded the traitor of a nasty child who like to pull the wings off bugs. On the single chair sat an appealing tray of rations.

Baltar swung his legs over the side of the bunk, feeling heavy in the head. For a moment, he just sat there, resting his aching skull in his hands. The coarse material of his new jumpsuit seemed to grate against his sensitive skin, leaving his entire body feeling raw and abused.Still, Lucifer hadn't afforded him the luxury of a change of clothes He briefly wondered if his old IL executive turned tormentor had survived, when a sudden rattling cough wracked his frame, and his chest burned with each convulsive breath.

"Guard!" Baltar snapped when he had recovered. A man could choke to death on his own tongue around here, and nobody would do anything about it. Perspiration seemed to be soaking his recently dry clothing, and it clung to him like a second skin . . . a poorly tailored and rough-hewn second skin. He frowned in revulsion, glancing in the corner to reassure himself that his own tattered clothes—the only meagre evidence of his imprisonment with the Cylons other than the ravings of the witch—were still there.

"What?" the guard replied from behind the transparent door.

Baltar looked up at him. He was slouching, and his expression reminded the traitor of a street thug. Actually, a street thug and security officer weren't really that much different in temperament, come to think of it. "I want to see a protector! It's my right!" Baltar shouted as he bolted to his feet, before lapsing again into a congested cough. He swayed, dropping back down onto the bunk, again resting his head in his hands. Distractedly, he wiped away the perspiration before glaring balefully at the guard.

"Looks like you need a med tech more than a protector, Baltar." The guard looked uncertain. "Not that you deserve either," the guard muttered under his breath.

Even so, Baltar heard it. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"Wait until there's one available," he shrugged. "See, right now they're working on a _hero_, a Colonial Warrior. A man far more deserving of their care than yourself."

"If it wasn't for me, Lieutenant Starbuck would have drowned on that planet!" Baltar rejoined.

"Mm. So I heard," said the guard, clearly not impressed.

"Yes! If not for me . . ."

"If it wasn't for _you_, none of us would be in this quadrant, Baltar." The guard's features twisted with disgust, and his open hand slammed against the door, before he replied in a low, steady, bitter voice, "We'd all be home, our families still alive. Not running across the universe to get away from your fracking Cylon friends." Then he growled quietly, "Murdering bastard."

"I was convicted without ever being given the opportunity to say a word in self-defence.It was a mockery of justice!" Baltar returned in outrage.

"So is the fact that you're still alive." the guard replied thoughtfully before turning and walking away.

XXXXXXXXXX

Luana jumped to her feet as the door of the decon chamber finally opened. Dr. Paye stood there barring her way, as if he knew she was about to leap into the room, desperate to put her eyes on her husband, frantic to see he was still alive.

_Damn! He knows me too well already!_

"He made it." Paye said wearily, slowly wiping his face with his hand.

Reflexively she threw her arms around the physician's neck, crushing him in her embrace. "Thank you," she murmured, vaguely aware of the others gathering around her as relief and exhaustion washed over her. She turned, embracing Lia, Chameleon and Ama in turn.

"He's still not out of danger, Luana," Paye told her quietly, backing up a step to allow her to pass."This is just the first and biggest hurdle. For now, he's intubated and on life support."

Lu managed to choke back a sob when she saw him. Starbuck looked so pale and frail, fragile as a newborn, and almost inhuman with a large tube inserted in his mouth, obviously helping him to breathe.She could see the familiar wires and small tubes from a regeneration sleeve coming from his injured shoulder, and various bags that drained assorted bodily fluids connected to the biostretcher all around him.

"Easy, my girl," Ama steadied her goddaughter.

"Did . . . did you have to take out his spleen?" Lu asked fearfully, hope still fluttering that they could salvage it.

"Yes." Paye replied, rubbing a hand over his face. "That was the easy part. Medically, he's a mess . . ." He sighed. "Acute respiratory failure, bilateral pulmonary effusions requiring thoracentesis, acute renal failure, reaction to the synthetic blood product we had to give him. . . It can never be easy with him." He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.

"The good news is he's responding to treatment," Cassiopeia interjected. "His creatinine is dropping, and his blood gases are improving, so his kidney and respiratory function are slowly returning to baseline."

"Now that we're back in the Fleet, I want the complete medical records of all military personnel checked and all the blood we can dredge up for him. I'd like that haemoglobin up at least another ten points by rest period, until it is, I want him constantly monitored." Paye added.

"What about the blood he got from Baltar?" asked Chameleon. Like the rest, the idea that they had had to depend on the traitor for_anything _

"Interestingly, Baltar's borderline anaemic also," said Paye. "It seems the Cylons weren't taking very good care of him, unlike the last time he appeared in the Fleet." Paye had done the physical himself before the traitor had been shipped to the Prison Barge the previous yahren. Baltar had been as healthy as an equus that time around. "Still, if not for him . . ." he shrugged.

"The Goddess often supplies our needs from unexpected sources," said Ama. Paye shrugged again.

"Can we move Starbuck to the _Galactica_?" Zeb asked. "He'd really benefit from a totally functional Life Station, Doctor."

Paye hesitated, looking at the pale figure on the stretcher. "Remind me Zeb, you have a medical staff here of how many?"

"Me, sir," replied the other, with a slight shrug. "We lost everyone else in Medical."

"That's what I thought. Prepare to transfer him to the _Galactica_." Paye looked at Boomer. "Is there an available transport, Lieutenant?"

"There is, sir." Boomer nodded. "Captain Apollo sent one back after he and Sheba shuttled over a centar ago."

"Apollo left?" Cassie asked in surprise.

"Commander Cain had another stroke." Boomer told her."At least that's what they think it was. They're not sure he's going to make it." He glanced over at Starbuck, letting out a deep sigh as Chameleon slowly approached his son's side, finally taking his hand, and holding it gently.

Chameleon hesitated, as if afraid to ask, but then did anyway. "Doctor, will Starbuck recover?" He seemed oblivious to the tears trailing down his face.

"Medically, his chances are good." Paye replied. "Provided he actually listens to what he's told, and allows himself to fully recover, before he leaps headlong into lethal danger again."

"Bubble wrap." Boomer murmured quietly.

"But?" the old man encouraged Paye.

"I've said it before, Chameleon. I _won't_ clear him to fly Vipers again. His career as a pilot is over." Paye drilled it home again. "He needs a new line of work, maybe flying a desk."

A cough and jerking motion from the stretcher had the med techs flying back to his side as Starbuck's hands flailed weakly, and he arched and gagged with the resulting pain.

"He's coming out of the anaesthetic already. Should we extubate or sedate?" Zeb asked, grabbing Starbuck's hands as Cassie programmed the medical pump to deliver regularly programmed analgesia.

"Cassie." Paye left it up to her.

"Extubate, before he does it himself." Cassie replied, checking her biomonitor once again.

She leaned over Starbuck who was coughing around the tube, his eyes wide with urgency. He was fighting against the intrusion into his airway. Quickly and methodically, the tube was pulled from his throat. He sputtered for a moment, struggling to sit forward. Zeb immediately applied a life mask to his face, while Cassie elevated the head of the stretcher, propping him up.

Luana was at his side in a micron, and he grasped her hand, clenching it tightly, pulling her close, muttering insistently to her behind the life mask. She smiled and nodded, stroking his hair back from his face. "I know, _Innamorato_. I know." He nodded once, his eyes fluttering closed again, and he let out a sigh of relief. His breathing slowed down, and he visibly relaxed, beginning to drop off to sleep.

"What did he say?" Chameleon asked, leaning forward expectantly.

Luana smiled with a sideways look at Paye."That he's _not_ flying a fracking desk."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Apollo hesitated as he heard the familiar, "Enter." He wasn't sure how his father would take the news, but his report was past due, and despite his determination that he would support Sheba through her latest family tragedy, Adama needed to know about Baltar.

The door slid open, and Apollo passed into the antechamber of his father's quarters. Adama, of course, was still in uniform, despite the late centar. He looked up expectantly from his computer screen, rising to his feet to embrace his son.

For an instant, Adama simply held him. As a father, Apollo had learned what it was like to hold his own son, having wondered only centars before if he would ever see him again. He relaxed into Adama's embrace, savouring the moment, as they seemed to be few and far between.

"You look tired." Adama commented as he held Apollo at arms length, looking at him critically.

At least Apollo had had the opportunity to get cleaned up, shave, and change his uniform after escorting Sheba to the Life Station, to begin another vigil over Cain. Dr. Salik had reminded the captain that he needed to return for a proper physical due to his recently sustained injuries on Planet 'P', but had conceded that it could wait until everybody had had some rest, including the exhausted medical team.

"It's been a long few days," Apollo agreed, glancing towards the open door in the inner chamber and trying to remember the schedule that was etched into his brain. It was the last duty period on a Sixth Day, but Athena would have been detained on the Bridge due to the battle, which usually meant Alma would watch Boxey, except she was caring for an ailing mother, and so Berenice would have stepped in . . . unless she still had her grandchildren staying with her . . . in which case it would be . . . Charis? _Except_ . . . she had told him she had something planned for her sister's sealing celebrations and wouldn't be available until after the secton-end. _Lords!_ "Is Boxey . . .?"

"Yes." Adama nodded with a grandfatherly smile. "I thought it would be easier just to let him sleep here while I was working."

"I'm surprised he didn't insist on waiting up for me."

"Well . . ." Adama shrugged, his smile slipping.

"Ah." Apollo sighed, remembering a recent bedtime where he had felt as though the boy was holding him hostage as Boxey alternated between refusing to let his father 'tuck him in', and then wailing like a tormented soul because Apollo hadn't kissed him goodnight. "He's mad at me again."

"He's only seven-yahrens-old, Apollo."

Apollo sighed, hearing the words that his father was thinking, but knew better than to say. _The boy needs a mother _. . . "I'm just going to look in on him." He crossed the room, pausing at the door, and pushing it open further, watching as the light fell on his sleeping son. Boxey had managed to occupy the entire bed, as only a child could, stretched out diagonally across it, the covers in total disarray, as he twitched and flexed in some dream. Muffit's familiar _whrrrrr_ obliterated his son's soft snore. "_Shh_ Muffit." Obediently, the drone slumped onto the floor at the bedside once again. Apollo withdrew, quietly closing the door.

"Before you know it, _you'll_ be waiting up for _him_." Adama commented wryly from across the room.

"It does fly by," Apollo agreed, crossing to the chair his father motioned him towards, and handing his datapad to his commander. "This is my complete report. But before we even get started, I need to let you know that someone else came back with us from the planet."

Adama paused, glancing from the datapad back to his son. His brow furrowed. "Someone else? Who?"

"Baltar."

"_Baltar_?"

Adama looked as though he'd been struck. His head shook ever so slightly in disbelief, then his knees seemed to buckle and he sat down heavily in his chair, needing the sudden support. He paused for a long moment, looking into space, before he finally looked up at his son and asked, "Where is he now?"

"The _Pegasus_ Brig."

Adama stood, hesitating for a moment before rising, and beginning to pace. "How did Baltar . . . ?" Then he turned suddenly to face Apollo, realization hitting him. "He was on the Base Ship!"

"Yes, sir. So he says." Apollo nodded. His father had been so overwhelmed that Baltar had resurfaced, it had taken him a moment to put together the obvious.

Adama let out a breath of frustration, raised a hand helplessly. "Then the Cylons _did_ find him. Picked him up. I had hoped . . . "

"Never to see him again," Apollo finished. "We all hoped for that, father." He watched for a few microns as Adama continued to pace like a caged animal, his hands clenched at his sides. "There's more, Commander. Baltar saved Starbuck."

Adama reared like a startled equine as he turned to regard Apollo in fascinated horror. "_What_?" Then he snorted. "Oh, this is going from bad to worse!"

Apollo paused, watching his father's eyes dart about the room as he tried to reconcile the news. "He pulled him out of the surf, saved him from drowning. Later, when the two of them tried to send a distress signal from Baltar's submerged Raider, Starbuck got trapped inside when the tide came in. That's about when I arrived. If Baltar hadn't told me then that Starbuck was down there, trapped under the water . . ." He couldn't quite believe he was admitting to this, and from the sceptical visage on Adama, neither could the commander. "Starbuck would have drowned. I managed to get Starbuck out of the Raider, father, even though by then he'd stopped breathing. Then we were trapped in the undertow, and Baltar came after us and pulled us _both _out. He even started chest compressions on Starbuck when I couldn't."

"Apollo . . ." Adama swallowed convulsively. He drew a hand slowly over his face, clenching his jaw.

"He _claims_ that he was a prisoner on the Base Ship. He _says_ he managed to escape as their patrol was launched to destroy the shuttles. He _insists_ that he intervened to stop his own crew from destroying Boomer's shuttle, which is why it was only winged and ended up crash landing."

Adama huffed in incredulity, turning away, raising a hand, gesticulating as he ranted, "Yes, I could see that . . . that it would be to Baltar's advantage to say _all_ of those things." He turned sharply and snapped, "I don't believe them for a centon."

"Ama does," Apollo added softly, while Adama seemed to hold his breath "Additionally, from Captain Dorado's report, Commander Lucifer, _not_ Baltar, was identified as the _Hades_ Base Ship's commanding officer. And not only were Baltar's clothes thin and tattered, but initial blood scans—done because he ended up donating blood to save Starbuck—indicates he was malnourished _and_ borderline anaemic." Adama seemed frozen to the spot. "There's more."

Adama closed his eyes briefly, letting out a slow breath, seeming to deflate before his son's eyes. He moved once again to his chair, sluggishly lowering himself into it. He rubbed his face with both hands, his weariness enshrouding him, making him look yahrens older than he had only centons before.

"What is it?" A whisper as he cradled his head in his splayed fingers, his elbow propped on the arm of his chair.

"When you bargained with Baltar for his freedom, and marooned him, you effectively granted him amnesty from his previous crimes against the State under Colonial Law." Apollo watched his father listen impassively, not a bit surprised. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Adama nodded briefly, unable to meet his son's eyes. "I didn't expect that . . ."

"But there was a _chance,_" Apollo returned, his tone a little harsher than he intended.

"Yes . . . there _was_ a chance than he could be rescued." Adama agreed. "But not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine he'd reappear in the Fleet, claiming to be a prisoner of war."

"So what do we do now?"

"We convene Council . . . and keep it quiet that he's back. At least for now."

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton was in his element.

Cassie sighed knowingly as she watched the Earth astronaut sitting in the _Pegasus_' OC, debriefing with his men. There was a familiar sparkle in his eyes, and an unmistakeable energy about him, both doubtlessly derived from their successful mission. She'd seen that 'post-mission high' more than once in other warriors, and though Dayton claimed to be semi-retired, she knew that he was as much of a warrior as Cain or Starbuck. He would never be a man who could just sit back in front of a cosy fire, and watch as others put their lives in danger. No, he'd far rather plunge headlong in himself, shoving them aside to do it if necessary.

_Now who does that remind you of?_

"Cassie!" Ryan shouted out, spotting her first. He beckoned her over, waving a hand towards her, his easy smile and friendly way erasing any hesitation she'd first felt about possibly intruding on a private moment. Like one, the group of men climbed to their feet, demonstrating that quaint Earth chivalry that endeared each and every one of them to her.

Dayton alone crossed the room to meet her, pulling her into a tight embrace and holding her for a moment before asking, "What's the word, Cassiopeia? Did the kid make it through?"

"He did." Cassie returned as he pulled back to study her features, his concern about Starbuck evident. "He's stable now, and on his way to the _Galactica_'s Life Station."

"Thank God," Dayton breathed, his eyes searching hers. "Have you nabbed any shut-eye? You must be exhausted."

"Aren't we all?" she replied, tucking her arm into his and steering him towards the table. One by one, the Earthmen took turns embracing her, kissing her cheek, and making her feel like a part of their family.

"Well, unlike the rest of us, _you_ don't look it," Ryan remarked as pulled out a chair for her. "You were really something, by the way, the way you took care of Starbuck. I can tell that Dr. Paye really trusts you, and it's obviously well deserved."

She smiled. "Thank you, Paddy. But I was just doing my job."

"You do it well, Cassiopeia," Porter added, inclining his head towards the door. Baker nodded, patting Ryan on the shoulder and getting his attention. "We'll let you two lovebirds get caught up.

"I need to track down Dietra, anyhow," Ryan added. "She promised us a ride back home if we behaved, and rumour has it the Council of Twelve will be meeting tomorrow, and the Earth Liaison Officer has to put in his first appearance."

"Dietra knows you too well, Paddy," Cassie smiled.

"Ain't that the truth," he chuckled. "The surprising thing is that it hasn't scared her off yet. Must be something in the water." He slapped Dayton on the shoulder, reciting, "First comes love, second comes . . ."

"Get out of here!" Dayton interrupted him with a chuckle, giving his friend a not so gentle nudge towards the door.

Cassie smiled in amusement watching them go, taking Dayton's hand and entwining their fingers. Despite their cheery façades, Dickins had to have weighed heavily into their conversation. "How are you all holding up?"

He sighed, then kissed her fingertips. "We're going to miss Dick, and spend a lot of time wondering if he made it home." He glanced out the viewport for a moment, then back into her vivid blue eyes. "I wish there was some way we could find out if he's alive or not, at least . . . I wish . . ."

"You wish you had gone with him," she replied quietly, dropping his gaze for a moment as she remembered his outrage back in the cave that Dickins would be going through the wormhole, and not him. He'd been running on pure emotion when he raged against the plan, feeling it was his right to be reunited with his daughter on Earth, and that nobody—not even the Guardians of the Ship of Lights—should be preventing that.

"Cassie, that really doesn't reflect on you and I at all. After all, Earth is home to me, and it's been a long time." He tried to convince her. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for something more. "Believe me, I _do_ love you."

She squeezed his hand, nodding. "I know that, Mark, and I love you too. But given a choice, you would have walked away from _us_. That does make an impression on a girl." Especially after Starbuck and Cain . . .

He took a moment before responding, "For my _kids_, Cassiopeia. It's hard to describe the . . . depth of the feelings, to anyone who isn't a parent. I guess I'd do just about anything to see Jess and Lauren again." He held her gaze. "And Yvonne too. I'm not going to lie to you about that."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mark." She smiled gently. "And most parents put their children first, within reason. I certainly wouldn't hold that against you. It's commendable, in fact."

"I . . . I'm relieved you feel that way. A lot of women wouldn't."

"And Yvonne is your wife. The woman you married and chose to make a life with. I'm not asking you to deny that, or to try and forget her. You should honour their memories."

"It's suddenly feeling kind of crowded in this relationship," he joked, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Suddenly?" she asked with a laugh and a glance at the door where Ryan was chatting with the barkeep as Porter and Baker waited. A seventy-yahren old man living with his three friends in the same quarters, however spacious. It didn't exactly afford them much privacy.

"Uh . . . I see what you mean." He winced slightly. "I guess I come with a full set of baggage Cassiopeia."

"I knew that going in," she replied. She'd never forget the devotion Dayton showed to his friend, Dickins, in the Life Station in those early days when they hit the Fleet, as well as the allegiance and friendship that had surprisingly grown between him and Starbuck. It hadn't taken long before she'd realized that many of the qualities she had loved about Starbuck were replicated in Dayton, only with a slightly more sagacious and polished finish, more reminiscent of Cain. "You're not the first man I've met who has carried some emotional millstones around with him. Remember, our worlds were destroyed. You'd be hard pressed _not_ to find a man who hasn't been effected by that in some way. Doubly so in a warrior."

"So . . . where does that leave us?" he asked, looking on edge, and at a bit of a loss as to what she was getting at.

She leaned towards him, "Together . . . in a very _crowded_ relationship."

"You want me to get a place of my own?" he asked hesitantly, his eyes darting towards the entrance guiltily.

She almost laughed aloud at the panic that lit his eyes. "No," she murmured in reassurance.

"What then?"

"I don't want you to change a thing. I just want you to know that I understand, and that I'm content to carry on the way we're going for now."

"You _are_?" he asked, his grey eyes searching hers. "I thought maybe you were looking for. . . for more of a commitment?" It sounded like a suggestion. "You know, more like a . . ."

Why was it that men always seemed to think that a woman's ultimate goal was marriage? "I think you're as committed as you can be, Mark . . ."

"Oh hoh! I'm not sure I like the sound of that!" he replied in alarm. "Look, I'm _not_ Starbuck. I'm a mature man who knows what he wants!"

"Until the rules all change," she pointed out again, not bothering to mention that Starbuck was now sealed after a meagre four sectars in a relationship. It wasn't so much that the younger warrior hadn't known _what_ he wanted, he just hadn't met the _woman_ he wanted. Until Luana. "Let's leave Starbuck out of this. I'm _not_ comparing you." It occurred to her she had once said something similar to Cain about Starbuck.

"I apologized for that." He reminded her.

"Yes, you did. But it does raise the point that given the option, this is not the relationship you'd choose. I don't want to be second best, Mark. I deserve better than that."

"I don't know what to say." He admitted, dropping her gaze.

She stroked his cheek with her fingertips, smiling when he looked at her curiously. "When I said you're as committed as you can be, I meant _for now_. And realistically, I need some time to think about all this too." It was true. While relationships gave spark and spice to life, the emotional upheavals and partings could be as enervating as a haemorrhage. Ultimately, she found herself drawn to heroes, courageous men who were willing to risk everything—even their relationships—to save their friends, damsels in distress, and Humanity in general. They insisted on understanding and devotion, while they filled her heart with uncertainty and fear, leaving her frequently wondering if she would ever see them again. She'd thought it would be different with Dayton. Now, she wasn't so sure. A conversation they'd had days ago when he'd volunteered to take the _Endeavour_ down to the planet came to mind.

"_And this mission?" _ She had asked him.

_ "My one and only, I hope to God. Frankly, I don't see them needing the Endeavour more than this once. My last hurrah, as it were." _

"You are a rare woman, Cassiopeia," he told her, drawing her back to the present. "Beautiful, intelligent, capable, and wise beyond your years. Yahrens." Dayton said, his appreciation for her clear. He leaned over and pulled her to her feet, then kissed her softly. "I love you very much, and I'll spend as much time proving that to you as is necessary."

"Sounds promising." She smiled up at him. Yes, she'd thought she had found the man of her dreams. All of the qualities that attracted her, yet semi-retired, and not even qualified for Colonial Warrior duty. They had seemed to be the perfect fit. Typically, like other men who would remain unmentioned, he had managed to surprise her, throwing himself into the line of fire, risking it all for 'the team', and helping to save the day, coming away with honourable mentions and accolades despite his purely bureaucratic designation.

"Hey, I'm back to being Earth Liaison Officer now. Other than helping those personifications of wisdom on the Council decide what to do with Baltar, there isn't much on my plate for the next secton or so. How about a romantic dinner on the _Rising Star_ for starters? I hear the tomatoes, onions, and corn are growing well."

"Right now, I'd be happy with a turbo wash and a good night's sleep," she replied tiredly. "Maybe a good _secton's _sleep."

"I could wash your back . . . turn down your covers . . ." He grinned, kissing the back of her hand.

"Kiss me 'goodnight'?" she asked suggestively.

"And 'good morning' too." He smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

An abrupt shift, signifying his transfer from a hoverstretcher to a biobed, pulled him out of his anaesthetic bliss. Starbuck opened his eyes groggily, gradually realizing he was still alive, and that he probably owed the Goddess Triquetra a big one, if his foggy memory was at all accurate.

"You're in the _Galactica_'s Life Station, Lieutenant." A familiar female voice told him as she leaned across him, connecting monitors and sorting out tubes. "How are you feeling?"

"Not sure . . ." he remarked with a thick tongue, trying to gauge that. Various areas of his body burned with discomfort, the exception being his right hand which tingled, but it was all actually tolerable at this point. The nausea that had overwhelmed him earlier was only an unpleasant memory. Mostly, he felt drugged to the teeth, and as weak as Aquarian Ale.

"Let me know when you are." Med tech Giselle replied lightly, before saying to someone else, "Tell the ensign and Chameleon they can come in."

"Luana. Her name's Luana." He murmured, before lapsing into a harsh cough. He knew for a fact that Giselle knew his wife's name, but as a good friend of Cassiopeia's, she still harboured some resentment toward the couple. Now, considering that both he and Cassie had moved on, it didn't make much sense. Then again, like the lupus, women ran together in packs. Cross one, and they'd make you pay for it as a group for as long as possible.

"That's it. Cough it up." Giselle replied. "It's good for your lungs, and your last scan showed some pulmonary infiltrates."

"Are we mounting a counterattack?" he asked ruefully, coughing again, feeling a thick wad of something disgusting collect in his mouth.

She paused in her work, momentarily looking down at him to thrust a tissue into his hand. Amusement lurked in her eyes. He'd always been able to wrap her around his little finger with a little boyish charm and wit. "You just did, Lieutenant."

Then she stood back as another cough wracked him, and he expelled more thick, foul sputum. His chest burned with discomfort and he splinted it instinctively.

"You had some fractured ribs, but we mended them." Giselle told him informatively.

"_Fwack_ . . ." he muttered around the mouthful, knowing that though the mender made quick work of broken bones, the surrounding tissue damage took longer to heal. Suddenly, a small container was thrust into his hand. He looked at her in question.

"Spit into that. I think we should get a culture." She replied, her finely arched brows knit in concern. "Here they are," she added, standing back and motioning towards Lu and his father as they crossed the Life Station behind her.

For the first time Starbuck noticed Sheba sitting at the next biobed. Giselle had blocked his view as she went about her duties. A quick glance later, he realized that Commander Cain was also a patient, which confused him because he was sure he had heard at some point that the Juggernaut had pulled through his brain surgery. Hadn't he? Word via Jolly on the planet? Sheba looked tired and haggard. Worse than Cain actually. She glanced at him wearily, giving him a soft smile that wasn't very convincing.

"Hey Hot Shot." Sheba murmured as Starbuck handed the med tech the specimen and Giselle moved towards the main station, pausing to talk quietly with Lu and his father on the way.

"What happened to your father?" he replied, glancing at Cain. "I thought he was doing well."

Sheba blinked back tears, and for a moment Starbuck wondered where Apollo was. He even glanced around the Life Station expecting the strike captain to suddenly appear.

"Father collapsed." Sheba told him. "They're still trying to figure out why exactly. It's either a faulty implant or another stroke. Maybe both."

Starbuck sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Sorry to hear that, Sheba . . ." To finally find her father only to have him first requiring major brain surgery and then collapsing as a result of it, life hadn't been very kind to Cain's daughter as of late. "How does it look?"

"They really don't know, Starbuck."

"Hey, if anybody can beat the odds, it's _your_ father." He smiled slightly. "I'll bet he's regrouping and plotting his retaliation as we speak."

"Thank you." She murmured, rising and crossing to him. She leaned down, kissing him on the cheek. "I heard about what you did for Apollo down there. Pushing him out of the way, and taking a hit. You may have saved his life . . . again. Thank you for that too."

"Well, getting hit wasn't really part of the plan . . . besides, I owe him a few." Starbuck shrugged, wincing as his shoulder screamed at him. Exhaustion seemed to sweep over him with the pain and the effort of focussing on a conversation. "We look out for each other. You know that. You were there for us too, the way I hear it." His eyes closed briefly . . . or maybe for a few microns . . . before he felt the gentle pressure of sweet lips on his own. He smiled, "_Lu _. . ." He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him, Sheba now back at her father's side. Apparently, he'd dozed off for a couple moments. Luana had turbo washed and changed, her hair damp and fresh smelling. He smiled lazily at her. "Did you arrange us couple's quarters yet?"

She laughed, shaking her head at him. "I haven't quite had a chance, _Innamorato_."

"Slacker," he murmured, breathing in her sweetness as she embraced him carefully, as though she might harm him in some way. "I'm okay."

"Sure you are." Her voice was tremulous, then she glanced over at Giselle who was looking at them pointedly. "We can only stay a few centons, Starbuck." She glanced at Chameleon on her husband's other side.

"We've been told in no uncertain terms that we need to let you get some rest." Chameleon added, leaning down and kissing his son on the forehead. "Your friends send their best. Boomer said to tell you he's working on a Sealing Reception that will go down in history."

"Good old Boomer," he replied with a sleepy sigh. "What about Baltar? What's happening with him?"

Luana put a finger to her lips, whispering, "We've been sworn to secrecy. They're going to convene Council in the morning and decide what to do with him."

"And Mal?"

"Who?" Chameleon asked.

"Malus. The IL we found on the planet." Starbuck explained. "He wanted to join the Fleet."

"They're talking about incorporating the _Abaddon_ into the Fleet, Starbuck. Again, it will be raised at the Council meeting." Sheba told him. "Malus will stay on in an advisory capacity."

"How did he do?" he asked, fighting against eyelids that were insisting on closing.

"Dorado couldn't say enough about him, but he's _still_ a Cylon. We can't trust him."

"Funny that he doesn't seem to feel that way about us . . ." Starbuck murmured, losing his fight with the blanketing blackness pulling him back into a deep sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Captain Dorado, might I ask you a question?" Malus asked the warrior as they both watched Dr. Wilker wandering around the Control Centre, running one of the Colonial scanners over what appeared to be a miniscule circuit board of some sort, purportedly an exact duplicate of the implant in Cain's brain.

"Sure, Malus," Dorado replied, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he looked over the latest diagnostic reports on the _Solarus_, preparing his final report and recommendations for Commander Adama before the Council meeting.

"Why would the implant on Commander Cain be sensitive to outside signals or frequencies? Isn't that functionally inappropriate, especially for a man in charge of a Battlestar?"

"Huh?" Dorado asked, pulled away from his data. He looked at the IL as if he'd been asked about mushies.

"If indeed the implant was reacting to a frequency from this ship, isn't it poor planning to design an neurological device sensitive to external stimuli of any kind?"

"Exactly," Dr. Wilker agreed. "But scientists specializing in medicine designed this, not those in the military. It responds to an external frequency because it connects with a diagnostic unit that monitors and records the effects of the stimulatory wavelons on the subject's central nervous system. That way, they can adjust settings as needed. This isn't about security, it's about convenience. It was never perfected, and Commander Cain was the first test case."

"He must be a very brave, or very trusting man, to allow an untried technology such as this to be inserted into him," Malus observed.

"Or a little desperate," Dorado hazarded, rolling his eyes as Wilker and then Bojay frowned at him. "I'm a bit surprised that you would view it that way, Malus. After all, don't Cylons occasionally receive implants of one kind or another into their circuit matrices? Things to maintain or augment their capabilities?"

"Of course," replied the IL, who almost reflexively ran an internal diagnostic. According to the results, some of the diodes on his left side could use replacing. "But then we are designed and programmed for such procedures. Parts wear out, or systems get upgraded, damage can be repaired. It just seems so odd, however, in a Human. I would have thought you would try it out on somebody more expendable first."

"Well, we didn't have a lot of volunteers, and Commander Cain didn't have much to lose by trying, Malus. He would have lost command of the _Pegasus_ if he couldn't overcome his disabilities. Most of us who know him, realize that command is his life." He sighed, glancing at Bojay. "I heard Starbuck might not be able to return to flying. He'll be the same. I can't imagine Starbuck _not_ in a cockpit." Bojay nodded soberly.

"Starbuck? That _is_ a shame." Malus intoned. "I do hope to see him again. I would be most pleased to do so in any capacity. I would like to thank him for giving me an opportunity to join your Fleet, and I would like to continue to make a study of him to develop my own sense of humour and pleasure seeking." Then he changed the topic, as the three Humans stared at him like he was a light bulb short of an IL . . . _hmm_ . . . "I would have thought that Humans were more adaptable."

"Some are." Dorado shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, if Cain had no chance of commanding a Battlestar again, I suppose he'd find some other way of getting on with his life. But if offered just one chance in a million of getting back to command, he'd take the risk."

"Will any of you be staying on if this ship officially becomes part of your Fleet?" Malus asked.

"I hope to." Dorado mused. "The _Solarus_ will be one of a kind, part battleship, part passenger ship. In the event of enemy contact, she's already proven herself to be an effective decoy. If we get the okay to refit her, she could make an impressive additional warship."

"The Council will never agree to it. Besides, who are you going to get to man her, never mind civilians who would agree to live on her? There aren't going to be many people who'll want a Cylon vessel as a base ship." Bojay refuted.

"Then you're not going to volunteer, Bo?" Dorado asked him, almost grinning.

"Hades, no. I'm transferring back to the _Pegasus_." He glanced at Malus, his thoughts about working with Cylons conveyed without words, even after Malus availing himself. "Sheba will need the support."

"Doesn't have anything to do with a certain ebony-haired lieutenant?" Dorado teased him. "You could end up with a command position here. On the _Pegasus_, Sheba's already been promoted above you."

"I'll wait my turn. I'm not in any hurry." Then he shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "And Roz might have a little something to do with it, yeah."

"Good for you." Dorado grinned. "You do have a point about the civilians though. Not many people would voluntarily give up berth on a Colonial freighter for this."

"I'm actually curious what Commander Adama will do now with Cain out of commission." Bojay added. "Rumour has it that Tigh might end up taking over the _Pegasus_."

"What about Sheba?" Dorado poised.

"You don't seriously think that Adama will promote someone to commanding officer who up until three days ago was a lowly lieutenant, do you?" Bojay shook his head. "She doesn't have the experience."

"_And_ she's a woman." Wilker added. Both men stared at him. They didn't disagree with him, they merely stared at him. "Well, somebody had to say it." He went back to his work, pausing as the scanner began beeping. "Aha!"

"Are the females of your species considered to be inferior?" Malus asked.

"Depends on the female in question," Bojay chuckled. "Women have come a long way, but we haven't had one command a Battlestar, or become President of the Council of the Twelve. There's a general assumption that those roles will go to men."

"Why?"

"Well, in relative terms, women haven't been in battle all that long. Traditionally, they took support roles and/or were bearing children. So, I suppose it's going to be a while before we see a total turnaround of those ideas. At least a few generations from when they first started serving with men in the military, I would expect," Dorado replied, before looking back to the other warrior. "So, you foresee Colonel Tigh commanding the _Pegasus_?" Bojay nodded. "What about here, Bo?"

"I see them eventually scrapping the _Abaddon_ project because of a shortage of appropriate officers to man her properly. As simple as that." Bojay replied. "It would take work, innovation, and some totally unconventional ideas to make this ship work. Not to mention a guy who could sell the Imperious Leader a set of eye glasses."

"Hmm. You know, I think I have an idea about that. I need to shuttle over to the _Galactica_ and see a man about a job." Dorado told them.

"I hate to tell you, buddy, but it's not going to be up to you." Bojay returned.

"The way I see it is the Council of the Twelve meets tomorrow, and the more ideas I have to give Commander Adama, the more likely I am to convince him that rebuilding the _Solarus_ is the right decision." Dorado returned.

"Good luck." Bojay told him. "You're going to need it."

"Lieutenant Bojay?" asked Malus. The warrior turned to him. "What is. . .'luck'?"

"I'll leave Starbuck to field that one. It's his specialty, after all."

"He has many specialties, doesn't he?" Malus asked almost dreamily, his lights brightening.

"He's quite the guy . . . just ask him."

XXXXXXXXXX

"_Starbuck _. . ."

She smiled tantalisingly at him from the doorway, crooking a finger at him, encouraging him down the dimly lit corridor. Lu had never looked so beautiful, her long brown hair glossy and cascading over her shoulders, her eyes dancing with happiness, wearing a sheer little number that left little to the imagination, which was saying a lot for him. His breath caught in his throat and his heart rate sped up as his circulatory system rerouted blood flow to the more vital areas that would soon need it. Lords, but he'd waited for this for a long time.

"_Starbuck_ . . ."

He pulled impatiently at his tunic, not wanting to waste any time as she disappeared within the chamber. Then a bare shapely leg peeked past the doorjamb, and he sucked in a breath as she extended it outward slightly, flexing it at the knee and pointing her graceful bare foot downward. He could almost feel her silky skin beneath his fingertips, those legs entwined in his own, as he picked up the pace, her delightful laughter enticing him into an alluring trap of her own design . . .

"_Starbuck!_"

The warrior opened his eyes to gaze into soft brown pools of concern . . . covered by heavy dark eyebrows, a swarthy complexion, and a full days growth of beard. "_Ohhhhh_! You just ruined the best dream, Dorado . . ." he groaned.

"Shh! Keep your voice down, Bucko." The other warrior whispered, pulling up a chair to his bedside. "How are you doing?"

Starbuck glanced around the softly lit Life Station, glancing across at Cain and detecting blue eyes briefly looking back at him before they closed. In a quick survey, he made out Med Tech Waheeb sitting at the main station, frowning in Dorado's direction. "How did you even get in here? They ran Lu and Sheba off centars ago."

"I told Waheeb it was a matter of Fleet Security." Dorado replied quietly. "Is it true about you losing your wings? No more high-G launches?"

Starbuck winced. "You kinda like to hit a fella over the head with it, don't you?" He wiggled the fingers of his right hand as he felt another onset of what he had come to think of as 'nerve storm'. The pins and needles sensation seemed to rush down his arm, settling into his fingertips in a sort of intense frenzy before it would again finally recede. He touched the fingers, and they seemed colder than his other hand, but he had been assured that his circulation was perfectly normal. "Dr. Salik and Paye both say I can't fly a Viper again." He sighed, finding it difficult to look his friend in the eye. He wasn't quite ready to contemplate what that would mean to his career, or his life. "How's Mal?" Finally, the pins and needles began to dissipate.

"You know, if he wasn't a Cylon, I'd think he was sweet on you," Dorado told him ruefully. "What the Hades Hole is it with you, anyway?"

"Women, daggits, cyborgs, they all love me," he replied by rote, and then shook his head as his old Academy-mate chuckled in reply. "Hey, he's not such a bad guy . . ._ for a Cylon_. Sheba said he did okay on the _Abaddon_."

"The _Solarus_." Dorado corrected him.

"Come again?"

"We have to rename her. Malus suggested the _Solarus_, and Commander Adama approved. And yes, he did great on the _Solarus_. He was a big help."

"Malus named. . .?" Starbuck murmured, finally remembering that he had used _Solarus_ as the fictitious name of a Colonial research vessel when the IL had first interrogated him in the cave. He smirked, wishing he could be there to see Apollo's face when he found out.

"Yeah, he's going to stay on as an advisor _if_ the Council votes to refit the old Base Ship."

"Why does the Council even get a say? Isn't this a military decision?" Starbuck asked, running a hand wearily over his face.

"Because the only way we can refit the _Solarus_, as well as have some leftover scrap for other crucial Fleet repairs, is if we salvage the _Aptian _Freighter."

"That old clunker? All that's holding her together is corrosion and the rotten paper and fabric that's congealed in the corners. Should be an easy call."

"If you and I were on Council, I'm sure it would be, but we both know that they don't think the same way as us. After all, those displaced by the salvage operation on the _Aptian_ would have to be housed within the Fleet. Now, you must know there isn't that much spare room, and considering there are about fifteen hundred civilians on the _Aptian_, we need a place to put them."

"Ah." He frowned. "I see. But isn't it better to have civilians housed on a Battleship, than to _not_ have a Battleship?" Starbuck asked, reaching for a sip of water as his throat began to tickle. The cup was just beyond his reach. He frowned, swallowing down foul saliva that seemed to want to crawl back up his throat.

"Not bad." Dorado pulled out his datapad, jotting something down. "I think I'll use it."

"And we should think about transferring the seniors to the . . . _Solarus_. And the families on board the _Aptian_ to the old Senior Ship."

"What are you thinking, Bucko?" Dorado leaned forward, engaging him.

"It's the generational difference." He rubbed a hand over his face as the thought about Chameleon and endless others aboard that ship. "A bunch of seniors would be happy to switch ships if it meant that the Fleet was stronger for doing it. They have that same sense of responsibility and duty that us warriors do, which seems to have skipped a lot of civilians of our generation who spend more time demanding that their civil rights be upheld while we're wandering across the galaxy trying to find the basic necessities for two hundred and twenty ships." He closed his eyes, spent by his rant.

"Ah, I knew there was a reason I thought of you. Unconventional thinking, I believe Bojay called it."

"Hmm. Why are we having this conversation again?" Starbuck rubbed his eyes and glanced at a chrono on his biomonitor. "At _0200_ centars?"

"What would you think about joining the _Solarus_' crew?"

"Leaving the _Galactica_?" He sat up, abruptly overwhelmed by a harsh, wet cough. It felt as though his chest was trying to expel everything between his throat and his toes. He gasped for air, as his body convulsed, sending jabs of pain through his chest, abdomen and shoulder. Finally, it eased and he dropped boneless back onto the stretcher covered in sweat.

"Was that a 'no'?" Dorado asked quietly deadpan.

"Don't ask me to repeat myself, for Sagan's sake," he panted.

Dorado squeezed his shoulder. "You okay?"

Starbuck nodded.

"Hey, it's a good opportunity. If we're going to do this, we'll need some volunteers. I can see that a lot of warriors, regardless of speciality, would be reluctant to throw their lot in with a refitted Cylon Base Ship. I've even given some thought to rebuilding some Raiders to form our own squadrons. Possibly even refitting some of their engines to Viper spaceframes alternatively. Combining Colonial and Cylon technologies. No high-G launches, Bucko."

He straightened up ever so slightly, his eyes shining with excitement at the thought of flying again. "They launch from the landing bays . . ."

"Yep. Easier on the body."

He nodded. "Who's taking command?"

"Well, initially it was going to be Colonel Tigh, but the word is that he'll be reassigned to the _Pegasus_ as executive officer acting as commanding officer while Cain's recovering." He glanced over at Cain, shaking his head slightly before returning his glance to Starbuck.

"What are the odds on Tigh . . .?" he smiled.

"Oh, if only there was time, Bucko." Dorado commiserated.

"Seems to me you're losing your perspective, buddy," Starbuck chastised him. "Surely to God someone is collecting bets on this. If I know Giles, he's already got a fistful of notes.

There's a bundle to be made . . ."

"Sorry, pal. I've let you down."

"You don't look too broken up about it."

"Well, I am trying to reinvent your career, and put you back into a fighter." He waited a beat. "Where you belong."

Starbuck sighed. "There is _that_." Then he smiled softly, an unspoken thanks on his features.

Dorado squeezed his arm again, before asking, "What about Dayton?"

Dorado and his wingman, Lieutenant Rooke, had spent sectars on the Pirate Asteroid with Dayton and his men before Starbuck had shown up. If anybody knew how tenacious, dedicated and military savvy the Earthman was, it was Dorado.

"You know that a 'commander' on Earth doesn't hold the same military distinction as it does here?" Starbuck asked.

"No, I didn't." He paused. "Do you think that matters?"

"Not a bit." Starbuck smiled. "Just as long as the Council doesn't know."

Dorado sniffed in amusement. "Do you think Dayton would be interested?"

"Reluctantly, of course, but he'd do it, and in the space of a centar he'd be moved aboard and ordering everybody around." Starbuck chuckled. "But he's not up to speed about Colonial or Cylon technology, not to mention how our military works. _And _he's not a Colonial citizen. We'd have to work something out about that."

"Well, the _Solarus_ isn't exactly a registered Colonial battleship either." Dorado reminded him. "At least not yet. And we're short of officers. Everybody knows that."

"Some sort of new command structure? To take all of that into account." Starbuck shrugged.

"Sounds interesting. What are you thinking?"

"Well . . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

What a fool he'd been! He'd been certain that he'd held the capstone! He thought that Colonial Justice would vindicate him in an ironic turn of events that would see Baltar—the convicted Betrayer of the Twelve Worlds—as a free man. Hadn't he saved Starbuck? Apollo too? Hadn't he prevented an entire shuttle of Colonials from being incinerated in a blaze of Cylon laser fire?

Surely that would be enough to make Adama—a man of moral conviction and fortitude—feel some regret or guilt, or at least have some second thoughts about such a sham of justice, as a trial in absentia devoid of most of the facts and all opportunity for Baltar's self-defence. Instead Baltar had been cast into the _Pegasus_' Brig, left wondering if Adama and the other ten members of the Council of Twelve even knew he existed. Had Apollo and his tightly knit band of Baltar Bashers decided to let him languish in solitude until he perished, leaving the rest of the Fleet unaware of not only his presence, but also his redemption?

After all, he had not seen a protector, an opposer, or even a med tech since he was left in the suspiciously empty Brig. Empty except for the surly guard that would just as soon shoot him as grant him his legal rights of representation. So far he hadn't even been formerly charged of any wrongdoing, so the fact that they were holding him here against his will additionally defied Colonial Law. Any centon now he expected bricklayers to seal up his cell for all of eternity, leaving nothing but a rotting corpse and a bad smell.

A sudden cough seized him, and he swung his legs over the side of his bunk, sitting upright, as every last milli-letron of foul, toxic, gelatinous fluid was squeezed from his lungs. Sweat broke out all over a body that was already drenched from his last similar episode. His frame convulsed for several more centons and he heaved and struggled for a breath, tears streaming down his face and his nose running in sympathy. He wiped it all on a small towel, the only additional luxury they had afforded him besides a blanket.

Baltar shuddered as he choked and then spat out a disgusting wad of something that he suspected had to be a piece of lung tissue rather than anything as simple or benign as sputum. It sure as Hades Hole wasn't food. Resting his sweaty head in his trembling hands, he looked down between his knees at the gruesome, thick puddle of awfulness on the floor. Spittle trailed down his chin, and a tenacious stream of it dangled from his chin. Weakly, he wiped it away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed something on the floor . . .

Wiggling.

"GUARD!!"

XXXXXXXXXX

The Life Station was eerily quiet in the early centars, long before the average duty shift began, which was why Adama had chosen now to visit. That, and the fact that Baltar's reappearance had prevented him from closing his eyes for more than five continuous centons. Then there was the Council meeting later this morning, followed by a command meeting to redistribute his senior officers. All in all, it would be a gruelling day.

He noticed straight away that Sheba and Luana had evidently both been run off by the medical staff, which bespoke an improvement in patient condition. A med tech sat quietly at the central station, inputting data. Adama sighed, looking between the two biobeds positioned closely together. Cain and Starbuck. Two men who would probably not be in the mess they were right now, if they had only followed physician's orders.

"How are they?" Adama asked Salik, his voice seeming intrusive with the quiet hum of medical equipment in the background as the physician crossed the room to join him.

"Commander Cain regained consciousness last night. He has complete paralysis to his right arm and leg, Commander. He can still talk though." Salik smiled. "He had a few choice words for Sobek about the 'short-circuiting electronic felgercarb we crammed into his brain'."

Adama couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Cain to berate a man for something he had insisted on participating in. "His words, I take it."

"Oh, yes," Salik agreed. "Slightly sanitized. Now, neural scans didn't show any clots, so the damage had to be primarily related to the implant." He motioned Adama to a monitor. There a 3-D internal scan of the brain was displayed, complete with implant. "Right now we're theorizing that it over-stimulated the neurons it was targeting for normal synaptic transmission, instead causing all the symptoms and after effects of a cerebral vascular incident. We're expecting some improvement, but the long and the short of it is, he wants to try another implant. This time he swears he'll stick with the regimen, and not go exploring Cylon Base Ships with his friends." He raised his eyebrows at the 'friend' in question.

"Uh . . . yes." Adama replied a little uncomfortably. "But, what's to prevent the same thing from happening? Why did the implant malfunction?"

"Good question." Salik sighed. "I gave Dr. Wilker the evacuated implant that failed, as well as an identical copy to take to the Base Ship as a test case. Sobek is wondering if some kind of specific Cylon signal on that ship triggered the glitch. It certainly seemed to function normally on the _Galactica_. I'm hoping to hear back from him this morning."

"Doctor, this sounds like some kind of a field test to me. That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, especially since you're putting it into the commander of the _Pegasus_!"

"It's experimental, Commander. You knew that going in." Salik reminded him. "So did he." He nodded towards Cain.

"How is Cain going to command . . .?"

"He won't be returning to active duty until I'm one hundred percent certain that he's not going to collapse on the Bridge in combat because of a Cylon frequency that is inadvertently received by the _Pegasus_."

"How long are we talking about?" Adama asked quietly.

"It could be six sectars to a yahren. And certainly no less, if he doesn't follow orders!"

"I see." It was about what he thought. He let out a slow breath, glancing over at Starbuck. "What about Starbuck?"

"You can't put that boy back in a Viper, Adama," Salik replied insistently after a long contemplative moment. "We can't keep patching him up. Putting him back together again. I've already told him. He lost his spleen, his kidneys are compromised, if I printed out his medical file, I could use it to wallpaper the _Galactica_ from end to end."

"Surely you're not suggesting a medical discharge?" Adama replied, completely astounded. "Is it that serious?"

"No." Salik shook his head, glancing over at the young man who stirred in his sleep, a harsh cough shaking his frame. "I know he's one of your best and most qualified warriors, but just the G-force of him blasting out of a launch tube will stress and compromise every synthetic repair in his body, putting him at risk. Not to mention what the repetitive action will do to his pain." He frowned. "He's going to feel the effects of these repeated and accumulative injuries, Adama. Regeneration treatments do a wonderful job on epithelialization and surface appearance, but they don't erase the pain or eliminate the scarring of deeper tissue. That is beyond even _our_ medical science."

Adama raised an eyebrow in question.

"I'm talking about _chronic_ pain." Salik replied. "His right shoulder and back had significant muscle and deep tissue damage. It's going to take extensive therapy for him to regain the full range of motion and strength. He's reporting tingling in his right hand, which could disappear as his inflammation decreases, or it might be permanent nerve damage. Only time will tell. Sagan, it's going to take days of regeneration treatments just to regranulate the tissue on his shoulder and back enough to cover the wound."

"Is that it?"

"Without a spleen, he's going to be more susceptible to infections of any kind. When he gets sick, he'll get sick fast. It won't be something that can wait for a shuttle, or a med tech. I'm talking about no more missions to alien planets, making sure his vaccinations are up to date, taking care of his health without exception. We both know that Starbuck would be more inclined to disobey every medical order I've issued until I'm blue in the face, than to look after his own health."

Adama closed his eyes, knowing Salik was right.

Then a gruff, familiar voice came from his right, "A man cut from the same cloth as me. Sounds like he'd make the _Solarus_ a fine strike captain."


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A coarse, wet noise grated its way through his slumber, making Starbuck want to clear his throat, or cough up another wad . . . or both. But the sound wasn't coming from _his_ throat.

Apollo was sitting in the chair that Dorado had vacated which seemed like only a few blinks ago, his hand pressed over his mouth to muffle the hoarse, chesty cough that erupted from him. His face was flushed and sweaty and he heaved again, making Starbuck consider calling a med tech, who was obviously doing rounds in one of the private cubicles, and out of earshot. Finally, the coughing subsided and Starbuck reached for his cup of water, which was, of course, just out of reach. He waved a hand at it, motioning for Apollo to take a sip. "Go ahead."

The captain grabbed the water, gulping it down. He ran a hand down his face, wiping at the perspiration beading on his forehead, and the tears that had tracked down his cheeks. "Thanks."

"Did you come to take my place?" Starbuck asked ruefully. "You don't look so good, buddy."

"I . . ." Apollo shrugged, taking another sip of the water and seeming more like himself within microns. "Just a scratchy throat. I needed to talk to you about something." Then he paused, and added almost as an afterthought, "How are you feeling?"

"Nocturnal."

"Huh?" Apollo raised his eyebrows.

"Never mind." He shrugged, rubbing his eyes and wondering if he would ever get a few centars of uninterrupted sleep again. "I'm fine."

"Rumour has it . . ."

"Well, don't believe everything you hear," Starbuck cut him off, not wanting to rehash being grounded by Paye and Salik, especially while a glimmer of hope burned bright with the approaching day . . . and Council meeting. "Let's just say I'm working on something." Then he grinned. "It's promising."

"Sounds mysterious." Apollo smiled.

"_Optimistic_ is probably a better choice of words." Quickly he outlined his and Dorado's plan for the _Solarus_.

"That could work," Apollo nodded as he leaned forward. "That's a damned good idea, in fact. You have my support, Starbuck. I'll speak to father before the meeting."

Starbuck nodded, eying the now empty water glass thirstily.

"What I want to know is how you managed to get my father to name a new battleship after you while you were unconscious on Planet 'P' _and _out of communications range," Apollo groused, a teasing glimmer in his green eyes.

"Care to make a guess and place a small wager?" Starbuck grinned.

"That would mean everybody learns your real name," Apollo pointed out. "Do you really want that particular felix out of the bag?"

Starbuck frowned, imagining the ribbing he would get, especially when his fellow warriors found out that the Empyreans now considered him to be an Imperial Prince. Not to mention getting sealed inside the antiquated Earth shuttle by Dayton, with the blessings of some conspicuously absent Earth King _and_ Blue Hawaii, whoever that was. Might just reconsider . . . "That's why _you're_ the captain."

"That's why," Apollo repeated softly, dropping his head and resting it on a fist. He let out a long sigh.

Several moments in silence passed. "What's on your mind, Apollo?"

"I lived most of my life with my career in mind, Starbuck."

"You'll get no argument from me, buddy. After all, there was a war on, as I recall."

Apollo paused before adding, "There are a lot of big changes going to be happening."

"Don't I know it." He agreed, intrigued where this was going.

Apollo sighed, standing and walking over to the main station, where he went about finding his friend something to drink. Several deep breaths later, he returned with some cold water, putting it down on Starbuck's bedside table. "I've made promises that I don't intend to break, but they aren't exactly compatible with my father's expectations of me."

"_Ah _. . ."

The old 'living up to the patriarch's expectations' routine. He'd seen it more than once in the military, and it had made Starbuck glad that he hadn't had the same pressures as his friend to succeed. Nobody to live up to or surpass. He could be judged purely on his own merit, and his career path would be as a result of his own failures and successes . . . with a little covert manipulation when he deemed it necessary, such as over Arcta. He reached for his water, finding it just out of reach. Disgruntled, Starbuck glanced at his friend. Apollo moved it marginally closer. It wasn't close enough.

"I'll report your pulmonary infiltrates to the med tech if you don't put that cup _in_ my hand right now," Starbuck glowered. "_Captain_."

Apollo chuckled, handing it over. "Suck it up, _Lieutenant_."

Starbuck grinned, sucking on the straw greedily before finally replying, "I know for a fact that you and your father don't always see eye to eye. You're your own man, Apollo."

"This is different. This is . . . significant."

"Career wise."

"Career wise."

Starbuck shrugged. "I don't know what to say really. I can only guess what you're getting at, since you don't seem to want to spit it out." He waited, giving Apollo a chance to elucidate. The captain squirmed like a worm on a hook. "What is this, role reversal? It's usually me who has a hard time saying what I want to say."

"I should be talking to Sheba . . ." Apollo murmured, looking guiltily at his chrono.

"Except her answer would be biased." Starbuck pointed out.

"And _you're _so objective." Apollo replied with a wry smile.

"Do what you want." Starbuck shrugged. "It's as easy as that really. If it seems right, it probably is."

"From the Book of Starbuck?" Apollo asked.

"You know it, buddy." He grinned. "It's in the intro."

Apollo nodded, almost robotically, glancing at a spot on Starbuck's bio-blanket.

"Not convinced, huh?" Starbuck asked. "Tell me, have you _ever_ done anything to truly disappoint your father? And I'm not talking about your date for the Academy graduation either."

Apollo's eyes twinkled for exactly the milli-centon it took for him to consider his answer, then he abruptly dropped his gaze, swallowing slowly before finally meeting Starbuck's eye and nodding, "Zac."

"Whoa!" Starbuck exhaled, and half-raised himself on one elbow. "Your father no more blames _you_ for having to leave Zac behind at Cimtar, than he blames _me_ for letting Zac take my patrol."

Apollo's head shot up at that. "That wasn't your . . ."

"And it wasn't _yours_ either, buddy," Starbuck replied soberly. "It was war, Apollo. Zac knew that, as much as any of us. It was the frackin' war." He let out a deep breath, slowly running a hand down his face. "You know, when we were younger, I use to wish that Adama could be _my_ father." He smiled, glancing at his friend once again. Apollo seemed to be studying the floor, but listening quietly. "And it wasn't so much that he was the commander of the _Galactica_, or this respected and honourable man, it was more that . . ." he shrugged. "He just seemed to . . . to _really_ love his children."

Apollo's gaze flickered to meet Starbuck's. "What are you saying?"

"That if you explain to your father about what's running through that head of yours . . . that he'll probably be a lot more understanding than you're giving him credit for." He winced and shook his head as a yawn ambushed his face. "He's a fair man, Apollo."

"And I shouldn't need you to tell me that," Apollo added. "Lords . . . why am I even here, Starbuck?" He buried his face in his hands.

"Because you missed me. Admit it." Then he smiled. "But I'm married now, Apollo, so you're going to have to let go and give me a little space."

Apollo's fingers parted and he looked at Starbuck in disbelief, which quickly became amusement. He reached over, gripping his arm and chuckled. "Sorry to crowd you, Prince Solarus. I'll check with your lackeys before I drop by unannounced next time."

"See that you do." Starbuck replied soberly, before adding with a shrug. "Don't be so hard on yourself. We're all exhausted from the mission. Besides, you sound like you're getting sick, and for a change you can't blame it on Boxey. So go back to bed and let _m_e get back to sleep. Sheba's going to be wondering where you are, after all."

Apollo startled almost guiltily, then shook his head chuckling again as he sat back, arms crossed, studying his friend, "How did you . . .?"

"I would have been disappointed in you if you hadn't." Starbuck grinned. "Oh, and buddy, could you get a hold of my father and have him come see me early this morning. There's something that requires his finesse . . ."

"Do I want to know?" Apollo asked.

"Probably not."

xxxxxxxxxxx

"What is it? What's wrong? Tell me!" Baltar demanded, kicking his leg and rattling the restraint that connected him to the biobed in the _Pegasus_' Life Station . . . such as it was. Still reeking of fresh paint, with wires and lights hanging from the ceiling, unmade beds and supplies still in boxes, it was barely functional. However, the medi-scanner was operative, and he had been under it for several centons as Med Tech Zeb studied the results while making distressing noises.

"They're parasites," Zeb replied, pulling his Life Station isolation hood into place. "I've picked up larvae in your lungs, as well as actual worms in your digestive tract." His face was difficult to see behind his mask, which was probably an advantage in these situations. "Is there any chance you were infected while confined on the Cylon Base Ship?"

It was pure poetry!

"Well, where else would I have picked them up? I was a prisoner! I told you that! Fed brackish water and hard tack. Lords alone knows where they got the horrid muck!" Baltar snapped, adjusting the life mask. "I was no friend of theirs."

Zeb looked at him sceptically. "Granted, parasites usually have to go through a cycle before they mature to this stage. It's doubtful you picked it up on the planet, and nobody else who was planetside is symptomatic, as far as I'm aware."

"Is there anything you can give me for it? Some kind of medication?"

"I have no medical history on you, Baltar," replied Zeb. "Until I or someone does a full workup, I won't know what drugs I can safely give you."

"Well," said Baltar slowly, "I am allergic to both penicillcon, as well as neo-myacon."

"Ah," said Zeb, entering the information into his data pad. "Parasites don't generally respond to antibiotics anyway."

"But . . ."

"Also, this organism does not appear in any of our databases, medical or zoological. Until we know more about it, I'm not going to start pumping you full of drugs that might or might not have any effect."

"Well, then what . . ." Baltar broke off, coughing once more.

"I'm going to comm Dr. Salik, and verify that you are the only victim, and see if I can arrange to transfer you to the _Galactica_. If we put you into a support chamber quickly, I can minimize the risk of infecting anybody else . . . then maybe into a negative pressure room once you hit the _Galactica_ . . . " He looked off into space, scratching his chin, and appeared to be thinking aloud rather than actually talking to the traitor.

"And you'll decrease the chances of having anybody identify me upon transfer," Baltar added derisively, before another attack struck him, and his chest convulsed, squeezing the air from his lungs and filling his mouth with foul liquid and small, writhing larvae . . .

xxxxxxxxxxx

"So just sign here . . ." Chameleon pointed to the data pad.

Dayton frowned, feeling as though he had suddenly been sucked into a vortex . . . or maybe a wormhole was more appropriate. "Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute, Chameleon. Did you hear me say 'yes'? I told you I have to think about this! This is a huge decision. I can't make it standing half-naked in the corridor at 0630 without even the benefit of a couple cups of joe." He lowered his voice frowning at the man who had helped ease their transition to Colonial life.

Chameleon shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling as he replied logically, "Then put your shirt on, Commander Dayton." He held out the data pad once again. "I can wait another centon or so."

Dayton sighed, taking the pad and looking it over. He scowled, and seriously wished for that cup of wake-me-up. "Wait. What about all these questions on Colonial history and government? I don't seem to remember . . ."

Chameleon raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to peer at the same. "Oh. I already did that part. You scored quite well, I assure you."

Dayton glanced at him dubiously, an expression that had been patented with Chameleon in mind. He scrolled down the data. "Wait . . . it says . . . it says that I'm signing not only an application for dual citizenship, but also that I've fairly and honestly completed this exam." He frowned at the conman again. "Fairly and honestly?"

"I'm merely trying to . . . expedite the process." Chameleon glanced at his chrono. "Do you realize that this usually takes sectons to sectars to complete virtually any process with the usual Colonial bureaucracy involved? Starbuck wants me to do it before the Council meeting. Could you work _with_ me, instead of _against_ me?"

"It's dishonest. I didn't do the test."

"I can also help with remedial education," smiled the con man. "Luana's told me that Lieutenant Athena can be very helpful."

"But . . ."

Chameleon sighed. "You spend thirty yahrens in a manmade Hades Hole, Dayton. Surely to God, that's enough of a test for any man?"

His mouth opened, but his gums flapped in the air for a moment. The conman had a salient point. "But I haven't decided . . . I haven't talked to Cassiopeia . . ." Man, oh man. He had just assured her that he was settling back into semi-retirement. Then again, never in his wildest dreams had he considered that he might once again have the opportunity to be back in the action. And certainly not as the commander of a sophisticated spaceship light-years from Earth. It had all the makings of bad science fiction. Too bad he couldn't pitch it to Hollywood.

"If you decide against it, you don't have to go through with it," Chameleon smiled sympathetically, or so he would have the Earthman believe. "Nobody can _force_ you to join the Colonial military against your will. We haven't had to conscript for centi-yahrens, after all."

"This is crazy." Dayton murmured considering it.

"Starbuck personally told me that it would influence his own decision about joining the crew of the _Sol_ . . . Base Ship." Chameleon dropped his gaze, suddenly fascinated with his manicure. "I'm not sure how he would cope with being grounded if he didn't have something else to go on to."

Dayton snorted. "He'd probably get his scheming father to implement his latest crackpot plan."

Chameleon smiled, but betrayed nothing. "It's a good idea, Dayton. Even Captain Apollo has endorsed it."

"I'm just not sure I'm up to it, Chameleon. There's a lot here I just don't know. And I'm not altogether comfortable with that." Dayton admitted reluctantly. He'd never been less than ninety percent sure that he was the right man for any job he had taken on. This was different though. He was out of his depth in so many areas, most of them due to ignorance of Colonial technology and military savvy, and just being an able commander wouldn't atone for that.

"Starbuck mentioned a new command structure. More of a collaborative approach while you're finding your way." Chameleon offered.

"Collaborative, huh? Do you realize how many times Starbuck and I have argued, fought and generally disagreed about almost everything, including life in general?" Dayton returned, even though the thought of working with Starbuck and Dorado as a part of an innovative new team was exciting far beyond an honorary appointment to the Council of the Twelve. He rubbed a hand briskly through his steel grey hair.

"My son _did_ mention it would never be boring," Chameleon smiled, glancing at the datapad once again. "But that considering your 'advanced yahrens'—his words, not mine—you might not be up to the challenge . . ." he left it hanging.

Dayton paused, electronic stylus in hand. He could almost picture the kid as he said that, but instead of a life mask on his face, one of those skinny cigars was clenched between his teeth, and that blasted grin was mocking him. The more he thought about it, Ama was probably channelling the image to give it the full irritating effect. "Damn . . ."

_I just know I'm gonna regret this. _He hastily scrawled his name.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It was boredom, truthfully. Boredom, more than need.

Yep, he didn't really _need_ one. It had more to do with the fact that he was sitting there, bored out of his mind with all that time to think about it. After all, there was only so much concentration required to blow and suck on little blue tubes to 'expand your lungs', before you started thinking about what else you could be sucking on. True, that was a rather short list, but still . . .

Starbuck grinned, glancing at the chrono on his biomonitor and wondering when Lu would show up.

"You look better. Less tubes?"

Starbuck looked over his shoulder. "Boomer. Good to see you, buddy. You brought my stuff?" He eyed the bag optimistically as he slowly swung his legs over the side of the biobed, glad to be rid of the dang catheter that pulled and tugged every time he shifted position. Another day and he could ditch the regeneration sleeve that was covering his shoulder and back wound, but at least that could be unhooked when he was 'mobilizing', as they called it. Then there would only be a drainage tube, his oxygen, and an intravenous . . .

"I did . . ." Boomer frowned, lowering his voice as he glanced at the sleeping Juggernaut only metrons away. "Although if anybody asks, I had nothing to do with _it_." He dropped the bag on Starbuck's lap, smiling slightly as his friend immediately began rifling through it. "Flight jacket pocket."

"I could kiss you," Starbuck grinned, fingering the fumarello and ignitor. Pure elation rushed through him.

"Try it, and you'll be back in that support tube for a sectar," drawled Boomer.

Starbuck grinned again, and slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Okay, I'll just blow you one. It should earn me points for lung expansion." He rolled his eyes.

"You're just going to chew on it, right?" Boomer quirked an eyebrow. "After all, you're _not_ allowed to smoke in here."

"Of course." Starbuck returned, reflexively glancing across the station at the private turbo flush. "I know that."

"Then why did you want the ignitor?" Boomer asked, pulling up a chair, straddling it backwards, and taking a seat. "And the tools?"

"Shhhhh." Starbuck returned with a guilty smile as the med tech came within earshot.

Boomer chuckled, shaking his head. Starbuck was looking surprisingly good. According to the med tech, even though the warrior had had emergency surgery, everything had gone well. He had some complications with his chest due to drowning, he was anaemic, and they had to filter out some toxins from his blood due to his decreased renal function, but the medical team was on top of it, and he was already starting to move around a bit more. In fact, not a centar ago, he'd had his first bite of solid food. "You'll never change. They're going to kick you out of here again."

"I can hope," Starbuck replied with a grin.

"By the way, your marriage is all over the _IFB_ this morning." Boomer added. "It's quite the story. Apparently, you were at death's doorway as you and Lu said your vows in the Empyrean tradition. No mention of Commander Dayton or being aboard the _Endeavour_." He shook his head. "It's getting more coverage than the Cylons."

"Are you kidding me?" Starbuck asked incredulously.

"Seriously," Boomer replied. "It's as though they're trying to take peoples' minds off the fact that the Cylons found us again. There's even a candlelight vigil for you on the _Malocchio_ this evening."

"_What_?"

"I guess the Empyreans haven't heard that their saviour, _Prince_ Starbuck, is now doing better, and will probably recover." Boomer laughed aloud at his friend's expression of disbelief, bordering on horror. "They're even debating whether or not to endow you with the honorary designation of Emperor before you die."

"_I'm_ not Empyrean . . ." Starbuck sputtered in disbelief. "And I'm _not_ dying!"

"Tell it to the_ IFB_, buddy." Boomer laughed. "And, since Lia and Luana have both abdicated, until any little baby Starbucks come along, apparently you _are_ in line for ascension, by Empyrean custom. By the way, Giles has a wager running on whether or not you'll accept. I hear Cree has already laid down fifty cubits, and I saw Jolly with a pouch, too." He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling in merriment. "Care to give me the inside scoop?"

Starbuck blinked . . . and then an abrupt image of an ermine fringed robe with a regal gold crown superimposed itself. There he was sitting in the Empyrean Ballroom on an ornate, high-backed throne, sceptre in hand, as his subjects stood in line to honour him. It was interesting for about a centon, and then he remembered that at this point, the role of Emperor was more ceremonial than functional in Empyrean society, and likely didn't include battling Cylons or being a member of the crew of the _Solarus_. Alternatively, he couldn't help but wonder if being Emperor granted him any special privileges in regards to Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists . . .

"Well?" Boomer asked again.

Starbuck grinned, looking at his friend expectantly, "I'm assuming we'll be splitting the profits?"

"You would." Boomer returned with a dramatic long-suffering sigh. "Alright. You're on."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Apollo?"

"Sorry . . ." he sputtered as he coughed into his hand, realizing he had failed in muffling the awful hacking noise and had awakened. Sheba. He'd actually managed to creep back into bed after returning from his clandestine visit to the Life Station, and the fact that she hadn't budged attested to her complete exhaustion.

_Lords, after the last few days, who isn't beat?_

"You really need to get that checked out. You sound awful," she told him, turning on a light.

"I have to report for a physical today anyhow," Apollo replied, shaking his head in disgust that whatever had affected him hadn't been eradicated in decon. "My yahrenly flight physical is in four days anyway, and after being down on the planet, Doctor Salik moved it up."

"I guess so," she replied. "The way I heard it, you were exposed to some kind of nerve gas, had a cave partially collapse on you, and then almost drowned pulling Starbuck out of that Raider."

"Hmm." He swung his legs out of bed, glancing at his chrono. He still had plenty of time to pick up Boxey and talk to his father.

"Where did you go, by the way?"

He hesitated. He shouldn't be surprised. She was a warrior after all. She could probably detect Cylons in her sleep. "To see Starbuck."

"How's he doing?"

"Better," he replied, turning to look at her. One hand carelessly resting over her head, her hair fanning the pillow, and sleep still lingering in her brown eyes, she looked alluring and beautiful.

"You must have been _really_ worried about him." She smiled slightly, running her fingers through her hair, then added playfully, "I sometimes suspect he's your secret twin, Apollo."

"Well . . ." he waffled between explaining himself and just moving on. After all, as lame as it seemed that he would get out of bed in the middle of the rest period to go check on the lieutenant—especially with a beautiful woman in his bed—Starbuck _was_ his best friend. "I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

She smiled lasciviously. "A shame."

Then he grinned, his smile matching her own at the tone. He leaned over her, bending down to gently caress her lips with his own. "I don't want you to catch whatever I have . . ." he told her hesitantly.

"Oh, I think it's a little late for that . . ." she chuckled, her arms creeping up around his neck and pulling him in for a long, lingering, tantalising kiss.

"Hmm," he murmured, fingering her silky hair as his body pressed against hers. Then abruptly, he tore himself away, coughing harshly and feeling as though he was about to hack up a lung as his mouth filled with foul fluid and something else. He lurched to his feet, racing for the turbo flush, his hand over his mouth. Then, just in time, he spewed out the vile contents of his mouth.

"Apollo. Are you okay?" Sheba asked, following him at a discrete distance, giving him a little privacy.

"I . . . uh . . ." he ran a trembling hand down his face as he glanced into the turbo flush bowl. His stomach turned as he shook his head in revulsion and horror. "We'd better . . ." He coughed again, willing the bile in his stomach to stay there. His bile, however, had other ideas, and followed the previous load into the throne. "We'd . . . better go to the Life Station, Sheba."

"You want me to take you?" she asked tentatively, slipping a bathrobe over his shoulders and then gasping as she glanced down. Something wormlike was squirming through the turbo bowl. "Oh my God! Apollo!"

"I know," he replied quietly, shaken and wan. "I just hope you haven't been infected." He closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head mutely as he let out a slow breath. "I'm so sorry, Sheba. As if you didn't have enough going on already."

"Never mind that," she replied, taking his hands and turning him to face her. "We're in this together, Apollo, one way or the other." Then she smiled. "We'll worm our way out of this somehow."

He winced, then smirked, pulling her into a tight embrace before telling her, "That was awful."

She laughed, "We'd better get going. After all, the early avian catches the worm."

"_Ohhhh!_"

xxxxxxxxxx

The near-balding, wizened old man looked over the application once again, his frown forming deep crevasses on either side of his mouth as he sighed, then cleared a permanently murky throat. He glanced at Ama through cloudy blue eyes over spectacles that looked almost as old as him, before returning his attention to the datapad.

"This is irregular, Councilwoman."

"I realize that, Sire Memnon, but we find ourselves in the unusual position of not having enough warriors to man our warships. Council would laugh me out of chambers were I to suggest they sanction the salvage of the _Aptian_ Freighter, and entrust civilian lives to untried junior officers, simply because they're the only ones available to take command of this newest addition to our defences." Ama replied. "They're already shown confidence in Commander Dayton when they accepted him on the Council as the Official Earth Liaison Officer."

"But this man has never served in our military . . ."

"But Commander Mark-Dayton spent twenty-two yahrens serving in his own country's military, and another thirty leading his men, and keeping them alive on that pirate base, but I'm sure you're familiar with his story. Recently, he came out of military retirement to take his own Earth vessel, the _Endeavour_, on a rescue mission down to Planet 'P'. Between you and I, Commander Adama is going to implement a new command structure for the _Solarus_ giving Commander Dayton the support he needs. Two very experienced officers will be working closely with him."

"But only if I accept his application and grant him dual citizenship." Memnon raised a bushy white eyebrow.

"With undue haste. That is correct." Ama replied.

Memnon sighed, glancing down at the application once again. He picked up his electronic stylus, adding his signature to the bottom with a flourish. "There had better be a box of your best fumarellos and two tickets to the next Empyrean Ball in this for me, Councilwoman Ama."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Look, there are some things that a guy just likes to do in private!"

"We _do_ have bedpans." Med Tech Tone rejoined.

"I'm _not_ using a bedpan!"

"We have portable commodes too." A slight smile, the sort med techs sport when dealing with intransigent patients, utterly failed to complete itself on Tone's face.

"No!"

"Look Starbuck, I need to see the results _and_ collect a specimen. Doctor Salik's orders specifically. . ."

"How can you _do_ this for a living . . .?"

Salik looked up from the medical report on Baltar to see Starbuck slowly but insistently making his way to the turbo flush, his biomonitor pole heavily loaded with his regenerator, his intravenous, and his portable oxygen. His jaw was clenched, and it was evident that either there was some urgency involved or that he was suffering the effects of his injuries, but the situation dictated that he would overcome any and all obstacles for ten centons on his own. The med tech trailed behind resignedly making sure nothing was tripped over, trampled or dropped. Neither man seemed aware that the standard Life Station gown was revealing glimpses of skin that a few female patients were obviously enjoying as the young man passed by. The physician smiled slightly at the warrior's tenacity and determination, knowing full well it was one reason the young man had survived yet another serious injury.

"Here's the scan Zeb did on Ba. . . on his patient, Dr. Salik," Giselle brought it up on screen from the data file.

"And there have been no other cases among the rescue party?"

"We just scheduled all involved for check-ups today, Doctor, and have asked that any experiencing a cough report here ASAP." She glanced over her datapad. "However, that might take a while."

"What about Starbuck's scan?"

She put it up for a side-by-side comparative view. "Here it is. This one is from his last flight physical, for a baseline.' She pointed at the readings next to it. "This was last night's. Some pulmonary infiltrates that are consistent with drowning. His saturation level is holding with the supplemental oxygen, and his red cell count is up by just over two percent since yesterday. His renal function has also improved slightly."

"Cough?"

"Yes, it's productive, but only sputum. We're doing chest physio, and as you can see, he's already up and moving."

"No signs of parasitic infestation?"

"None, but we'll repeat the scan for a comparison when he's finished . . . _ah hum_." She glanced at the turbo flush door with a smile as it closed firmly behind the warrior. "And _if_ we get a specimen we can check for occult blood as well as parasites."

"Yes, that would be definitive. The other case had fully grown worms in his bowel, but it normally takes sectons for eggs to develop into worms. It's likely this is an isolated case. I'm just wondering how he picked it up, and if the Cylons infected him purposely. It would certainly explain his weight loss and anaemia," Salik replied, glancing up as Zeb entered the Life Station pushing a support chamber, assisted by a burly warrior. He pointed to a private isolation room, following them. "Is he sedated?"

"Yes, sir," Zeb replied with a nod. "There's no way I could get him in there otherwise, coughing up larvae."

"I'm almost afraid to look," Giselle grimaced, as she lightly fingered the cover, taking over from the warrior with a nod. She watched him go, and take up position just outside the hatchway. Obviously for Baltar's benefit. "What if the parasites started evacuating of their own accord on transport?"

Zeb made a face. "We call in pest control?"

"Sounds good to me," she replied with a nervous smile.

"If he _is_ covered with them, then at least we can experiment, and see what they react to," Salik replied logically, as they entered the private room, lifting the silver cover to reveal a sleeping Baltar through the window. A life mask covered his face, but at a glance, there didn't appear to be any parasites confined within it. For a moment it hit him that he had the Betrayer of the Colonies, the most hated man in all the universe, as a patient, and then he made the necessary mental leap to treat him anyway. "Transfer him to a biobed and isolate him for now. More than likely, it isn't contagious, and certainly not airborne, but we'll take every precaution until we're sure."

"Yes, Doctor."

Salik turned, frowning as Apollo and Sheba entered the Life Station. He crossed to meet them, glancing at the Strike Captain. "You're early."

"He's sick," Sheba inserted, glancing across the room to where her father lay.

"I coughed up something that looked like a small worm," a pale Apollo explained, tissues in hand. He held it out to Salik. The doctor took one look, and frowned.

The medical officer immediately pointed to the isolation room he had just left. "You're the second case. In there, Captain. Who else was exposed?" He glanced pointedly at Sheba. "Using the same turbo flush, kissing, sleeping together, sharing food . . ."

She smiled slightly as Apollo shuffled from foot to foot. "Guilty as charged."

"What about Boxey?" Salik asked.

"He's with his grandfather. I only had a chance to look in on him . . ." Apollo grimaced, going through his mental schedule to see who could watch his son for yet another day.

Salik nodded. "Sheba, we'll do a concentrated scan and see if we can pick up any signs of eggs or spores, but you'll probably have to report to Life Station more than once. Zeb could run the scan on the _Pegasus_. Once we release you, you need to be vigilant about using your own turbo flush, and keeping your saliva to yourself until we're sure you're clear."

Sheba raised an eyebrow. " I usually . . ."

Abruptly, a muffled yell of horror ripped through the Life Station. In microns, the turbo flush door flew open and a wild-eyed Starbuck tore through the door holding a lit fumarello, unmindful of his tubes, bio-monitor and his flapping Life Station gown. The regeneration tubing attached to the warrior's shoulder and back abruptly pulled the pole over, and it crashed to the floor. Starbuck was caught short in his mad dash to escape his invisible demons, like a daggit come to a sudden stop at the end of his leash. His feet kept going where his upper body couldn't follow. In a pile of tubing, and medical paraphernalia he too crashed to the floor.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

It had started _out_ alright. Starbuck had managed to smuggle his fumarello and ignitor into the turbo flush, as well as have a reasonable excuse for a little privacy, which was almost a nonexistent occurrence in a Life Station. Disabling the smoke detector had been child's play for a guy who could reactivate defunct communicators and emergency beacons in his Viper. Lords, those first few puffs had been heavenly. He could feel his body relax as he sucked the heady aroma of fine Empyrean tobacco into his lungs. Sagan, he had needed it. He hadn't had a smoke since the insecton incident on the planet, when they had discovered that somehow the properties of Empyrean tobacco acted as a repellent of sort on Planet 'P' bugs.

However, after a few centons of enjoying the experience, there had been a rumbling in his guts that indicated his trip to the turbo flush was justified for more than one reason. It was sure to please every bowel-obsessed med tech and physician in the Life Station.

Then _it_ had happened.

There was an urgency, _and_ a sensation of writhing, squirming, wiggling, even tickling—none of it _his_ doing—in regions that were supposed to function without _any_ consideration or special attention, at least as far as he was concerned. And when he had finished and reluctantly looked . . . Lords, the _thing_ at the bottom of the turbo bowl that had crawled out of him was enough to freak out the most heroic of men!

He barely remembered tearing through the door of the turbo flush, but the distinct sensation of tubes and regeneration dressings ripping free of his body almost made him scream as he hit the floor hard. He lay there in shock for a micron, face down, as people hovered above him in a wild frenzy. By then there was an inexplicable fullness in his throat, and he gagged and sputtered, trying to draw a breath.

Cain's voice suddenly boomed through the chaos. "Is somebody going to help him? The boy's choking!"

"Doc! He passed a worm!" Some brave, but obviously sick soul yelled from the turbo flush. Horrifying to think that some people actually got paid to look at such things!

"Easy, Lieutenant. Just settle down," Salik told Starbuck. "You're okay. Seems you've picked up a parasitic infection."

_Parasites!_ _Settle down? _ One definitely ruled out the other!

Starbuck coughed, as the fullness and tickling sensation in his throat increased. It suddenly struck him that there was something in _there_, trying to get out! He gasped as the parasite battled for real estate in his airway, coming out the victor. Instinctively, he clutched his throat, a horrible gurgling sound erupting from him as he dropped his fumarello.

"He can't breathe!"

"Turn him over!"

"Watch out for the damn fumarello! I can't _believe_ he was smoking in there!"

"_I_ can."

They flipped him over, and he lurched upward, desperate for a breath. Salik immediately pushed down on his shoulders.

"Hold him!" the physician snapped. "Starbuck, calm down!" Then, "Get me a bio-scanner and an Intubation Tray! STAT!"

Hands restrained him from various directions, pressing him to the floor. A gasp of air squeaked into his lungs, then he was staring into Salik's eyes as the physician ran a monitor over him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read the results. It seemed that out of nowhere there was a tube heading for his nose. He ground his head into the floor as Salik gripped his face with one hand and shoved the curved, pliable tube into his right nostril with the other. He gagged as it brushed the back of his throat before the pressure finally stopped. Then the medical officer chased another longer tube through it. Within microns, Starbuck could breathe. It was somewhat grounding, knowing he was in the best of hands, in a terrifying, parasitic sort of way.

"Open your mouth, Starbuck," Salik ordered him.

He shuddered as his chest rose and fell with short gasping breaths, and the fullness in his throat caused him to gag some more. Opening his mouth, he again focussed on the physician as the man shone a light into the cavity, his face screwed up in concentration. Then a pair of forceps was in his mouth, and Starbuck held his breath as he felt something being pulled from his throat.

"_Sagan_ . . ." someone breathed.

White, striated, plump, and endless, it kept coming and coming. It was horrifying! It had to be thirty centimetrons long! Starbuck's stomach heaved and his body convulsed as he instinctively did his best to launch the bastard out of there. He felt and tasted bile in his mouth.

"He's losing it!"

"Roll him on his side!"

"Get suction!"

Then his last meal, everything he'd managed to drink within his grasp, and a slick slither of alien worms spewed onto the floor. "Dear God . . ." he gasped and choked, pushing himself backwards, struggling to escape the horror as he butted up against several kneeling bodies.

"Easy, Lieutenant," somebody soothed him.

"Easy for _you_ maybe!" he coughed as gentle hands applied a Life Mask. He brushed it aside, the mere thought of some worm being trapped inside of it, doing laps around his face as it tried to find a way out, sent waves of revulsion through him. He shuddered, trying to get his shaken nerves under control. His shoulder began burning in pain as the shock of the moment started to wear off, the adrenaline surge to ebb. He groaned aloud.

"Hypospray!" Salik barked.

A micron later, the encroaching wave of agony began to diminish. "Oh . . . _frack_ . . ." he moaned, as someone probed his wounds and applied pressure to an arm that he only just noticed was bleeding from an intravenous being ripped out.

"I don't understand. He hasn't had any signs of infestation at all until now!" Giselle posed. "His admission scans were clear, and other than a cough, and some consolidation in his lung bases, he's been asymptomatic."

"The fumarello? It repelled insectons on the planet. Could it also repel these parasites?" Tone asked, trying to piece together the ruined regeneration dressings until they could replace them.

"It's entirely plausible," Salik replied to his staff.

"Doctor, Bal . . . uh, er . . ." Zeb nodded in the traitor's direction. "He hasn't passed any further larvae since we sedated him. If sedation and anaesthesia put the worms into some kind of a dormant state . . ."

"And something in the fumarello causes them to evacuate from the body . . ." Tone added, nodding enthusiastically.

"That _would_ explain why Starbuck has been asymptomatic until now, following surgery and narcotics." Salik replied, glancing at the two ashen captains as they watched. "Have either of you taken up smoking by any chance?"

"Uh, well. . . " Apollo stuttered, remembering his brief experience with smoking on Planet 'P'. If Starbuck had truly jumpstarted the horrifying experience they had just witnessed by sneaking a smoke in the turbo flush, well, there wasn't a more effective advertisement for quitting smoking than the revolting display he had just seen with his own two eyes . . . not that quitting was any kind of an issue for him. "We all smoked down on the planet to ward off the insectons, but I'm not a smoker . . . and I'll sure as Hades hole stay away from them from now on."

"Are _we_ going to go through that?" Sheba whispered, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide with dismay. She'd battled Cylons, pirates, Alrinachs and demons, but the mere thought of any worm crawling its way out of her mouth, or any other orifice, was enough to send her into a squeamish frenzy. She'd rather face a pinwheel attack by herself. "I mean, _if_ . . ." She glanced at Apollo with trepidation.

He winced, squeezing her hand, his own revulsion evident. "Sheba, I'm so sorry . . ." he whispered for her ears only.

"I think I missed something here." The Juggernaut spoke up again from his biobed, one side of his face back to being twisted and slack after his implant failed. "Sheba wasn't down on the planet. Just how did she get put at risk?"

Apollo and Sheba turned identical shades of pink.

"I see." Cain glowered. "I see."

"It's possible for you to pass a worm, Captain, but it's unlikely to be that violent, unless you've been smoking the same thing as Starbuck. I've certainly seen parasites being passed spontaneously, but it's usually in response to some kind of specific treatment, or just simple peristalsis," Salik replied, deflecting Cain's intrusion. "_But_, this means we have a starting point for a treatment." He sighed, looking at Starbuck as the med techs pulled him to his feet, easing him onto a bio-stretcher. He looked completely drained from his experience. "I don't condone smoking in the Life Station, Lieutenant, but ironically, you seem to have identified a possible cure for what ails you."

"Ales?" Starbuck murmured, his eyes closing as exhaustion and narcosis swept over him. "I'll take an Empyrean Brown Nectar."

Salik smiled at the weak attempt of humour. "Isolate Starbuck with Captain Apollo and Bal . . .uh . . ." He paused, glancing at his staff and nodding towards Baltar's room. "Then get Captain Sheba scanned. I want her results on my monitor in ten centons."

"Doctor, there's something I don't understand," Zeb inserted. "They had to be infected on the planet for all three of them to have come down with this."

"You're right, Zeb," Salik nodded, adding, "Get the rest of that landing party in here ASAP. I want to make sure nobody else was infected, especially with Human waste being processed and recycled for fertilizing the Agro Ships. I want them here on the double if they ate or drank anything from the planet."

"Boomer, Dayton, Starbuck, Luana, Baker, Tone and I all ate roasted Bobak planetside," Apollo glanced at the med tech.

"Well, _I _came back clear this morning." Tone informed him. "And the Bobak _was_ cooked."

"Parasites would be more likely to appear in the fruit or water," Salik suggested.

"I can't speak for the others, but _we_ didn't eat the fruit. We know better than that," Apollo told the physician.

"Just like Starbuck knows better than to smoke in the Life Station?" Salik countered with a frown.

"Point taken," the captain conceded with a sigh

Salik glowered down at the lieutenant, shaking his good shoulder lightly. "Starbuck! Did you drink the water on the planet, or eat any fresh fruit?"

"Huh?" Sleepy blue eyes peaked open to consider him for a moment, as he tried to remember. "Drank some fresh water. A lake not far from where our ships were . . . inhaled the frackin' ocean too."

"Bal . . . uh . . . _we_ swallowed some ocean water as well," Apollo reported. "Both of us came close to drowning, along with Starbuck."

"That could be it." Tone nodded.

"Doctor, what I was trying to say, sir, was that _something_ had to speed up the life cycle of the parasites," Zeb jumped in again. "It's unheard of to go from eggs to full blown worms of that size in the space of a day. At least for any species that we know."

"But what could do that?" Giselle asked.

"What external force were they subjected to that might have influenced the life cycle of a microorganism?" Salik mused, his face suddenly devoid of colour. "By all the Lords . . ."

"Surely to God . . ." Apollo muttered with dawning realization. "But that's supposed to have the _opposite_ effect!"

"_Decon_?" Sheba said aloud what they were all thinking. "Oh, Lords!"

"So that's why the parasites were undetectable on Starbuck's admission. They kicked into hyperdrive _after_ leaving Decon!" Tone opined.

"That must be it." Salik agreed.

"Great," said Cain. "I'm flat on my back, paralysed on one side, and surrounded by worm infested heroes! One of which might be my daughter. Just great!" He glowered at them from his bio-bed. "The next thing you're going to tell me is this patient you all keep referring to as 'Ball' before you sputter and then choke off your words, is actually _Baltar_."

xxxxxxxxxx

"There. That's it." Malus finished the circuit board modifications on the neural implant. "Now, if Commander Cain were a Cylon, we would put it in him and test it before closing up his access panel, making any adjustments that were necessary. Have him lift an arm, or a leg. Perform simple tasks and progressively more complex cognitive processes."

"Humans don't have 'access panels', Malus." Wilker informed him, taking the implant and examining it carefully. "You've shielded the circuit. Made it impervious to outside signals."

"Well, Cylons don't come with remote shutdown controls, so I can't imagine that it would be advisable to have them for our Human counterparts." Malus replied logically.

"Just don't tell Commander Cain that you consider him to be your Human counterpart." Wilker retorted deadpan. "He might not appreciate the comparison."

"I've never heard of a Human with an operating system before. I admit I find it most exciting that I have assisted in the development of the prototype." His lights seemed to brighten momentarily. "It is most gratifying to be useful, Dr. Wilker."

"I imagine that a century or more of utter boredom would make almost any project seem gratifying."

"It does, indeed. Especially so when my capabilities and programming are instrumental to success."

"If the Council decides to permit the salvaging of the _Aptian _Freighter in favour of resurrecting your old Base Ship, then there will be hundreds of projects that you could assist with, Malus." Wilker stroked his chin, considering the implant once again. "A Cyborg of your talents would be very useful indeed."

"I thank you, Dr. Wilker."

"Hmm? Oh, you're welcome. Now, excuse me. I need to take this to Dr. Sobek and ask him about Commander Cain's . . . access panel and the possibility of conscious sedation for the procedure."

"By all means." Malus bowed politely, watching the science officer retreat towards the landing bay. "I knew they had an access panel . . . but I wonder where it is."

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton spared a swift glance at the chrono over the bar in the OC, as he strummed the 'guitar'. It wasn't a real one, of course, but the nearest Colonial equivalent. A bit shorter, and with two more strings, it nonetheless sounded enough like one, once you got the hang of it. It had, he'd been told by the barkeep, belonged to a warrior named Bunker, who'd been lost in combat. He'd eventually have to get one of his own made, but for the moment, this was fine . . .

"Another one, Commander Dayton?" asked Freeman. Dayton nodded, with a smile. The fellow's accent was intriguing, sounding almost Irish, and he'd come to the Fleet from the long-forgotten Proteus Prison, Starbuck had told him. The prison where, they were certain, Ben had ended up after his escape. However, Freeman hadn't really known Ben. Only recalled him through stories of his own father. The ambrosa haze they all seemed to have lived in could have possibly had _something_ to do with that . . .

_Ah, Ben. What happened to you? What __. . . _

"Here sir," said Freeman crossing to the table from the bar. Dayton took his mug of java, and looked up at the chrono again. Cassie was almost five minutes . . . centons late. Not like her, although he had to admit, he wasn't looking forward to this. He was crazy about her, and, so she said, it was mutual. Yet, someone of his training and temperament could never say no to duty when it called, and called again she had.

"What's that ye be playin' there, if ye don't mind me askin'?" asked Freeman as he polished the table to a glossy finish. There was but a single other patron in the OC at this hour, and Freeman had run out of glasses to wipe.

"Huh? Oh, just some tune from home is all. Hard to get it to come out right with this thing," he raised the 'guitar' a moment, tuned it slightly, "but close enough I guess. And I'm a little out of practice."

"It's so different from our sort of music, ye know," said Freeman.

"I suppose," Dayton strummed . . .

_Just one year of love, Is better than a lifetime alone. One sentimental moment in your arms, Is like a shooting star, Right through my heart. It's always a rainy day, without you. I'm a prisoner of love, inside you, I'm falling apart all around you - yeah. . ._

Freeman listened to the strange melody, and words that sounded equally strange to him. Of course, art and culture hadn't exactly been top priorities on Proteus, so he supposed he must be pretty well out of date. The tune made him wonder what sort of world Earth was, and what sort of man this was, when a voice called, and he hurried away to serve. Dayton kept on, playing and softly rendering the words. . .

_And no one ever told me that love would hurt so much,__ Oooh yes it hurts.__  
__ And pain is so close to pleasure,__ And all I can do is surrender. . . to your . . ._

It was an awareness of her presence more than anything that made him stop singing, and look up. Cassie was entering the OC, looking radiant, as always. Despite being part way through her shift in the Life Station, instead of looking beat, she looked like she was ready to hit Vegas. He motioned her over.

"You made it." He tucked the instrument under his arm, standing up and leaning forward to softly kiss her cheek.

"Barely." She replied, with a smile. "There was an accident on the _Aptian_ Freighter. An energizer blew, and two men came in with burns. Besides that, one of the survey teams down on the southern hemisphere of the planet had some trouble. A rockslide, and two men came in with broken bones." The look on her face told him she wouldn't voluntarily return to the surface of that planet if she could help it. All the same, it would be a couple of days before the thick ash covered the entire planet, giving them an opportunity to retrieve precious resources in the meantime. "Then, there were three other men apart from all that who have been put on isolation." She took a seat, and ordered a mineral water. "And you? They're expecting you in the Life Station for your post mission physical."

"I'll be along. I just needed to see you first. I've been waiting. And thinking." He set the instrument down, and folded his hands across the table. "Cassie, I need to talk to you. There's something I need to run by you."

"Run . . . oh. What?" She had a sudden feeling that duty was calling her man away.

Again.

"Look, it's a bit of a long shot . . ." He didn't miss the slight wince that crossed her features. "Well, the truth is that I've been pitched to Commander Adama as the new commanding officer of that old Cylon Base Ship."

"Does this have something to do with that early morning wake up call?" She asked.

"Well . . ." his head wobbled like a Bobble-Headed dog in the rear window of his parent's '71 Valiant. "Yeah. That was Chameleon. He contacted me a little while ago again. Seems Ama got this Sire Memnon to approve my application for dual citizenship. They're pushing it through. I didn't really think it was possible, which was the only reason I didn't mention it to you this morning before you left for work." He looked at her searchingly, praying she would believe him. Every word was true.

She nodded slightly, her hands tightening around her glass. "What do you _want_ to do, Mark?"

He hesitated, studying her features. She didn't _look_ mad. "Look, Commander Adama still has to convince the Council that an Earthman has any business commanding a Cylon ship thousands of yahrens beyond any technology we had on Earth."

"But you'd like to take the position . . . _if_ they offer it to you." She replied softly.

This was it. "Yeah. I would." He sat back and waited for the explosion.

It didn't come.

Cassiopeia reached across, stroking his hand softly. "Do they need med techs on your ship, Commander Dayton?"

Inexplicably, he felt his eyes well up with tears. He took her hands in his, leaning forward, and kissed them softly, before looking into her beautiful eyes. "They most certainly do, my love."

xxxxxxxxxx

An irritatingly persistent sound, like a hiccoughing insecton buzzing around his head warning him of an impending attack, finally coaxed Baltar's eyes open. His left eye, anyway. He blinked as his brain cells tried to reorganize themselves into some semblance of consciousness. Gradually, he opened the other eye, and focussed in on the source of the annoying noise, aware that he recognized the man, but couldn't quite place him. Then the events of the preceding day began to permeate his somnolence, until he realized with a start as he stared at the evidence before him that he, Baltar, was the victim of a parasitic infestation . . . and besides that, he had larvae in his lungs.

His roommate appeared as sedated as Baltar had been for his transfer over to the other Battlestar. Starbuck's face was relaxed, his hair in his eyes, making him appear younger than his yahrens. In retrospect, it was partly why Baltar hadn't recognized him at first on the beach. Most of these young warriors spent their existence on guard, prepared for the worst at all times. When their defences were down, as during sleep, the responsibilities that they characteristically wore like a second skin all but disappeared, at least for a little while.

Starbuck snorted then, and his face wrinkled as his hand unconsciously brushed at his nose. Heavy eyelids tried to open and his head lifted ever so slightly, before he was pulled back into oblivion, losing his battle with whatever drugs he had been given. Abruptly, Baltar realized that they had been isolated together, sharing the same alien infestation. In other words, he could no longer blame his affliction on the Cylons. Starbuck squirmed again. Baltar wasn't sure why this was such a compelling spectator sport, but all the same he found himself watching, his eyes growing wider and wider, as something poked out of the lieutenant's nose.

"Dear Lord . . ."

Baltar propped himself up on an elbow, instinctively brushing at his own nose, thankful it was clear. He shuddered as the insensate warrior snorted and coughed, and the wriggler was expelled, only to come to a rest beside the sleeping man's lips, seemingly content to rest there a while as a bedfellow, or perhaps looking for a way back in. Starbuck mumbled something, his eyes flickering open again. Alarmingly, his lips were slightly parted.

"Interesting company that you keep, Lieutenant," Baltar murmured in complete revulsion. If the worm squirmed its way back into the warrior's mouth, Baltar was sure he'd throw up. Either that, or run screaming out of the Life Station, which would be quite a sight considering his sudden lack of attire. "Then again, it might be an improvement over your usual sidekicks."

Starbuck's eyes flickered open at the sound of his voice, and he brushed at his face reflexively, this time touching the wriggler. He startled as his fingers brushed the slimy worm. With a yelp of surprise, he launched himself backwards on his bio-bed at the same time as he inadvertently flicked the larvae across the room, straight for Baltar.

Suddenly, Captain Apollo was behind him, probably preventing the lieutenant from dropping off that side of the bed. Which was a shame, as it would have been good for a laugh, and Baltar could use one about now.

"Whoa, buddy!" Apollo grabbed a shoulder, using his body as a barrier to stop the frantic retreat. An additional bed was positioned on the other side of Starbuck's, which was apparently where the strike captain had been lurking.

"_Sagan_ . . ." Starbuck muttered, his eyes darting around wildly, as he tried to sort out what was happening. "What the _frack _was that?" His hand shook visibly as he held it in front of him, then he glanced at Baltar. The transformation was immediate, as he tried to get his emotions under control, so as to not appear weak before the 'enemy'.

"I believe a worm just crawled out of your nose, Lieutenant," Baltar explained helpfully, hesitating as he tried to find a way to remove it from the cover of his bio-bed without actually touching it. Slowly, he climbed off the bed, putting some distance between him and the loathsome wriggler as he wrapped his meagre Life Station gown around him. "Looking for greener pastures, no doubt."

"Yeah? Or just someone he's more comfortable with. Closer to his own species," Starbuck returned acerbically, before glancing behind him. "You might not want to stand back there long, Apollo. The last one crawled out of my astr. . ."

"I don't think I wanted to know that," Baltar cut him off, feeling himself pale at the mere idea. Revulsion filled him when he recalled coughing up the larvae in the Brig on the _Pegasus_. What other orifices would the alien wrigglers try to evacuate?

"I'll let the med team know there's another specimen for them to experiment on." Apollo used a container that had been left for such an eventuality to collect the worm, then headed through the door. As it opened, Baltar could see a woman standing outside in a separate chamber, which looked suspiciously like an airlock. She was covered with protective clothing, only her eyes visible beneath the garments that gave her the appearance of a Priestess, more so than a health care provider. Then the door shut again.

"Ever the pragmatist, your Captain Apollo," Baltar returned sourly. "So, I take it we're trapped here together until they find a cure? The three of us?"

"Pretty much, Baltar," Starbuck returned resignedly.

"And I'm sure my assigned Protector will be visiting me soon?" Baltar added sceptically. "After all, legal representation when you're being held against your will is a right granted to all citizens of the Twelve Worlds."

"Well, it does complicate things when you're on isolation," Starbuck replied with an amused grin.

"Hmm."

Starbuck chuckled, then lapsed into silence for a long moment, glancing surreptitiously at the traitor several times as he ruminated. Baltar could sense a confliction of emotions from the other. A weakness perhaps. Regardless, it was becoming rather painful to be stared at as though he was the latest freak to be revealed at the Pineas State Fair.

"_What_?" Baltar finally asked.

"I never . . . well . . . uh . . ." Starbuck winced, clearly having trouble either finding the words or getting them out.

"Yes?" Baltar replied sharply, enjoying the other's discomfiture. The warrior looked as though he was chewing something that tasted bad, and he didn't know whether to swallow or spit.

"Look . . . you _probably_ saved my life down there . . ." His tone was reluctant.

Baltar smiled beatifically. "As a Colonial Warrior, I'm sure you would have done the same for me." The abrupt look of surprise on the lieutenant's face disputed his words. It was amusing in the extreme.

Starbuck opened his mouth, and then closed it again considering the traitor indecisively.

"Is this a somewhat pathetic attempt to thank me?" Baltar asked. The lieutenant actually bit his lip, torn between honour and instinct. It would go against his grain not to acknowledge such an act. But he was apparently at a loss as to what to do or say next, given just who it was that had done the saving. Baltar restrained the sudden compulsion to laugh aloud.

"Hey, it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue," Starbuck replied defensively. "Thanks for saving _me_, Baltar. Don't worry about the several _other_ billion deaths you were responsible for."

"Well, that was about the sorriest expression of gratitude I have ever had the displeasure to be subjected to. I liked it better when you were tongue tied," Baltar replied with a frown. "Where did you learn your Colonial etiquette? In a back alley?"

Starbuck shrugged, flopping back on his bed. "_Great_. The betrayer of the Twelve Colonies is telling _me_ I have to work on my manners." He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then sighed. "You know, we could be stuck in here together for days. Sectons even." He glanced at the door, and then around the room, his eyes lighting up as he spotted a kitbag beside his bed.

"You're not exactly my first choice as a roommate either."

"Then . . . how about a _truce_ . . ."

Baltar raised his eyebrows considering the other. The disbelief in his voice was audible. "A _truce_." He smiled. "They must have given you a _lot_ of drugs to even consider it."

"Maybe so," Starbuck nodded. "After all, the last time you and the word _truce_ shared quarters, about ten billion people were wiped out. So yeah, I guess I am flying on drugs. But it's a nice diversion from parasites and traitors, if you ask me." He slowly leaned over the bed and retrieving his kitbag, careful of a bio-sleeve attached to his shoulder and back. He rummaged inside, smiling and looking at the door once again before pulling out a fumarello. "All the same, if we don't do _something_, I'm going to end up strangling you with my regeneration tube. Of course, it would be a toss up as to whether I would be charged for termination again, or decorated for my contributions to society." He grinned annoyingly.

"I sense that the depth of your gratitude is as shallow as your ethical code of conduct, Lieutenant."

The warrior froze, then looked up, all previous signs of amusement gone. "Look, if I hadn't been loyal to my 'code of conduct', Baltar, I would have killed you on sight. The fact that I didn't should tell even you something. I took an oath to protect Human lives. Even ones as undeserving of it as yours. And don't forget that Apollo didn't drop you out the jump tube either. So don't go throwing mong about ethics and morals at me!"

Baltar sighed. "Really, your manners were more in question than your ethics," he grunted. "Besides, it was _your_ life hanging in the balance down on the planet the way that I remember it. Tell me, Lieutenant. Does your 'code of conduct' work both ways? After all, I _saved_ your life. The way you tell it, you and Captain Apollo merely _deigned_ to allow me to live . . . even knowing I'd been granted amnesty for supposed crimes against the State. So, in reality, who's the better man?"

Starbuck seemed to choke in disbelief, his body tense, and for a moment, Baltar thought the warrior was going to launch himself across the room and attack him.

"Baltar, the mere fact that you actually believe that a trivial thing like _amnesty_ . . ." he spat out the word, as though it was anathema. "Granted by _one_ man striking a bargain . . . could possibly erase the culpability or the burden that billions of deaths should carry . . ." He shook his head in derision. "Well, that should give you your answer."

"I see." Baltar replied, smiling at the irony that such a revelation could come from a lowly warrior. Then again, the Fleet was more indicative of his kind. There would be no forgiveness. His voice was thick as he replied, "How much regret is enough? How much shame? How much despair?"

Starbuck sighed, and shook his head, but this time held his tongue as he flopped back onto his bio-bed. He glanced at the fumarello he held thoughtfully, letting silence prevail for several centons. Just as Baltar began to think the other was finally going to allow him some peace, he rolled to his side, murmuring "Look, Baltar . . ."

"What happened to your truce?"

"Oh . . ." Starbuck frowned, as though he'd forgotten. "Right." He winced then, as if reconsidering.

"Are you rescinding your offer?"

He seemed to think it over.

"I'd hate for you to feel you had to strangle me with your tubes, after all." Baltar rejoined.

Starbuck actually smiled at that. "Well . . . how about if . . .?" His face was a battlefield where he apparently engaged and deflected ideas systematically, before finally replying, "What if . . . to sort of seal the truce . . . I gave you this fumarello?" Another micron passed where he once again looked regretful as he gazed at the smoke forlornly, turning it over in his hand, balancing its weight between his fingers. Then he glanced at Baltar, adding as if in explanation, "It's my last one. Think of it as a peace offering for . . . uh, well . . . for saving my life."

"_That_ must have hurt." Baltar smiled.

"Worse than pissing blood." Starbuck returned wryly.

The last time Baltar had smoked a fumarello had been about a sectar before the Armistice was to be signed. He'd been in President Adar's drawing room, drinking fine Tauran Brandy and celebrating the conclusion of his negotiations with the Cylons. Smoking fumarellos reminded him of his heyday, orating and debating among the most powerful and respected men in the Colonies. It was another era, when men of importance set themselves apart to enjoy the pleasures in life that were only accorded to those of prominence, social status and wealth. It was a ritual. A tradition.

"Unless something has changed, I don't believe I will be permitted to smoke in a Life Station, Lieutenant. Besides, I doubt _your_ fumarello will be up to my usual standards," he returned arrogantly.

Starbuck raised his eyebrows in amusement, and then held out the fumarello temptingly with a boastful smile. "This is the finest of Empyrean tobacco, Baltar. Cured to perfection. The proprietor is a personal friend of mine. And I can get around the Life Station rules. Rules are just guidelines, after all. You should know that." He nodded meaningfully at the private turbo flush in the room as Baltar accepted the smoke. This time, the young man's winsome smile was curiously contagious. "Besides, it's good for what ails you."

With a loud sniff, Baltar inhaled the aroma. He sighed, transported back to a time when the world had been his oyster. Life had been full of promise and each and every challenge or difficulty he had met head on with the tenacity, confidence and ignorance of youth. It was almost difficult to believe now that he had once lived, loved, played and schemed as a notable member of the upper echelon and ultimately as an honourable member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Especially considering his present company, both internally and externally.

Yes, a fine fumarello would be a pleasant diversion.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Well?" Adama sat forward, his fingers entwined, his elbows resting on his desk. For a moment, he felt like he was back in school, waiting to find out if he was going to pull detention or not.

Sire Solon raised his eyebrows, "It seems to me that much of the evidence in Baltar's favour is at best circumstantial, Commander." He glanced down at his datapad. "Hearsay."

"Yet the physical assessment of him supports his claim that he was a prisoner," Adama inserted. "Seriously undernourished, Anaemic."

"It's hardly conclusive."

"I know. But there was also the fact that he was obviously _not_ in command of that Base Ship, according to Captain Dorado," Adama added. "An IL Cylon called Lucifer was."

"Logically, there would have already been a commander in place when they picked Baltar up from the planet you exiled him on. The fact that he wasn't in command, doesn't exclude the possibility that he was in league with the Cylons once again." Solon paused a moment, "I believe that a Tribunal would concede that the fact that he was able to leave the Base Ship at his own discretion would lend credence to the fact that he wasn't a prisoner. Really, it's his word against what the Tribunal is inclined to believe based on what we know about Baltar. We have no concrete corroborating evidence either way."

"What of our bond? I granted him amnesty for his crimes against the Colonies when he gave us the necessary intelligence to defeat that Cylon Base Ship." Adama let out a long sigh, "Most of this evidence is more based on assumptions due to his past."

"As you've already admitted, Commander Adama, that was a gentleman's agreement. Nothing was recorded on data crystal or otherwise." Solon returned. "So I suppose it all depends on how much of a gentleman you plan on being with the man that brought about the destruction of all of our homeworlds."

"Indeed."

"I sense some hesitation on your part."

Adama sighed. "I simply want to know the truth."

Solon nodded in empathy. "The reason I entered my practice. The search for truth. But one thing I have learned over my career is that often when truth eludes us, what we _want_ to believe is what we _do_ believe."

"Shadows of Starbuck's termination charge, Sire Solon?" Adama asked.

"I believed him to be guilty. All the available evidence pointed to Starbuck."

"And yet he was innocent." Adama shook his head wryly, "I can't believe I'm drawing a parallel between the two."

"That's what makes you a good leader, Adama. And a good man."

Adama sighed, drumming his fingers on his desk for a moment. "There is one more possibility . . . but it could be risky. At least to Baltar."

Solon sniffed, in a rare show of restrained humour. "I like it already."

xxxxxxxxxx

Apollo couldn't help but smile as he considered Sheba, garbed from head to toe in isolation gear, protecting her from his _cooties_. It was quite a comparison, with his skimpy gown. "So, I take it _you_ came back clear?" He couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, not knowing how severe this affliction was, or how sick he was supposed to get.

Her eyebrows raised. "Totally clear. I don't even need to be quarantined. Considering every opportunity I had for getting infected last night, you'd think that they'd concede it isn't contagious. However, the only way that Dr. Salik would let me see you was if I dressed in this ridiculous-looking gear, and met you either in your room, or in this antechamber ." She glanced at the inner chamber door that acted as a quasi airlock to the isolation room, "How is it going in there?"

"About as well as you'd expect. Baltar's baiting Starbuck. Starbuck's throwing worms across the room at Baltar." He held up the contained specimen for emphasis. "It's taking just about every bit of self-control that I have not to strangle Baltar myself . . ." he shrugged.

"Or Starbuck, either?"

"Well . . ."

She smiled slightly, "I think it's going to get worse before it gets better."

"What do you mean?"

"Cassie just came in with Commander Dayton." With a chuckle, Sheba slid open the door ever so slightly.

"_Worms_? I have _worms_?" Dayton's voice resonated around the Life Station. "Satan's socks, I'm not a spaniel!"

"Sorry, Mark. I guess those blackberries we were eating on the planet had the little buggers in them," Ryan was explaining.

"You didn't check them first?" Dayton roared in disbelief.

"How do you check a blackberry?" Ryan replied. "After all, these ones don't come with text messaging."

"Why I ought to . . ."

"Easy, Mark . . . this kind of conduct really isn't becoming in an Earth Liaison Officer of the Colonial Fleet." Ryan passed through their line of vision, hastily retreating from his commander and friend, but unable to suppress a grin. "I mean, hey, Sire Uri could be watching."

"Dammit, Ryan . . ." Dayton stalked him, his face a mask of fury.

"At least Porter is clear. That's something," Ryan reasoned, still backing away.

"Oh yeah! _Fabulous_!"

Sheba muffled her laughter, closing the door again, "At this rate, they're either going to have to let you off isolation, or get you guys a larger room."

"Getting out of here can't come too soon for me," Apollo replied. He still needed to talk to his father, spend some time with Boxey, then there was all the usual duties he had already delayed by a couple days. Lords, his desk must look like . . . Can you take this to Dr. Salik or one of the med techs?"

Her aspect sobered as she accepted the small bottle, grimacing. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad, actually. They're giving me an aerosol treatment for my lungs. They also gave me and Starbuck a mild sedative to see if their theory about the larvae going into some kind of dormant state was accurate."

"Was it?"

"Well, I've improved, but not long after, a worm crawled out of Starbuck's nose. But, he _was_ the one smoking the fumarello, so maybe that's why." Apollo drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly before adding, "I couldn't do that earlier without coughing, so I'm definitely better."

"I heard that Colonel Tigh is going to be transferred to the _Pegasus_ as acting commanding officer and executive officer," Sheba told him.

"I heard that too," he nodded. "Tigh needs to stretch his officer's muscles a bit."

"Does that mean that _you'll_ be promoted?" Concern lurked in her eyes, but otherwise her face—concealed behind the isolation mask—seemed carefully impassive. "Have you talked to your father?"

He bowed his head, still torn between duty and trying to make things work with Sheba. He sighed, looking up at her, "If I was the executive officer of the _Galactica_, and you were the strike captain of the _Pegasus_, just how much time do you think we'd be able to spend together?"

Her eyes misting up was his answer.

"Yeah. That's what I figured," Apollo replied. "Now if we were _both_ strike captains, I could envision regular meetings in the war rooms at the very least. Especially while we were busy with refitting the _Pegasus_ and the _Solarus_."

"You're going to turn down the promotion?" she asked in disbelief.

"Would you think less of me if I did?" he asked after a moment.

She turned slightly, as though considering it. Then she whispered, "Are you doing this for me?"

"I'm doing it for _us_," Apollo replied. His heart started fluttering in his chest inexplicably when she didn't meet his eye. "Sheba?"

"I don't want to be . . . I'm not sure that you . . ."

"What?" Apollo asked, when she couldn't find the words.

"Apollo, you're Commander Adama's eldest child. You've been trained and groomed for this since you were a boy. Just like he was before you. I can't believe you'd give it all up because of . . ." She shook her head as though she really couldn't understand his choice. "Have you _told _Adama?"

"No," he replied, turning her towards him, grabbing her mask and pulling it gently from her face so he could see her. "You _want_ me to take this promotion?"

She hesitated, possibly trying to sort out her own feelings. Finally, with that familiar determined expression she replied, "_I_ would."

He let out a short breath, turning away from her, trying to wrap his mind around this new development. The two eldest children—in Sheba's case the _only_ child—of celebrated Colonial Warriors. To hear his mother and grandmother talk yahrens ago, Apollo's destiny had been written in the stars by the first Lord of Kobol. Responsibility, duty, integrity, fortitude, bravery, loyalty, those qualities had been burned into his heart and soul from the time he was old enough to play 'Colonial Warriors and Cylons' with the neighbourhood kids, finding himself, not surprisingly, organizing ambushes and strafing runs with the alacrity of the consummate commander . . . as far as his seven-yahren-old friends were concerned. "I _thought_ you'd be happy . . ."

"You thought I'd be happy because you decided to throw away your career when your people need you most?" she returned. "We're in the unique position where we suddenly have two Battlestars and an _Abaddon_ Base Ship, but a shortage of senior officers to command them. Apollo, I love you, but the idea that you would turn down the most important promotion of your career is setting off klaxons for me. You know what happens to officers that turn down advancement. I'm _not_ going to be responsible for something that I know you'll regret later."

He blew out a breath, shaking his head, feeling as though his heart was pulling him in one direction, and everybody else in the other. But he had been sure that Sheba would support him in this . . . evidently not. "What about us? How can we make our relationship work if I'm tied to the _Galactica_, and you to the _Pegasus_?"

"By refusing to fail," she smiled slightly then. "I don't know about you, but failure is _not_ an option for me. Just like we said when I told you about my promotion to the _Pegasus_. I'll do what I have to to make time for us. I'll make it a priority. And I'll damn well expect you to do the same . . . _Colonel_."

He sniffed in wonder, searching her features, before pulling her against him tightly. Not only was she _not_ supporting his choice, she'd basically told him to get over it, and move on. Incredibly, he felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "You constantly amaze me . . ."

"You might as well get used to it," she rejoined, her arms creeping around his neck as she leaned in for a kiss.

The outer door abruptly slid open, and Apollo and Sheba turned their heads to see a surprised Luana, also in isolation gear, trying to squeeze into the small space.

"Sorry . . ." she breathed, her eyes shining with unshed tears that she tried unsuccessfully to blink away. A shaky, gloved hand wiped at a traitorous tear. "I . . . I just need to see Starbuck."

Immediately, Sheba put an arm around the young woman. "Hey, he's doing okay. Apollo was just in there. Starbuck's even feeling up to giving Baltar a hard time."

Apollo nodded, lightly squeezing her hand. "Really, Luana. So far it's been more humiliating than incapacitating."

"You don't understand . . ." she murmured, her voice tremulous. "It's not that . . ."

"What is it?" Sheba asked, a sisterly concern for the younger woman sweeping over her. "Are you infected too?"

Luana laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "If only it was that trivial . . ."

"Lu . . .?" Apollo encouraged her.

Then an ear-shattering scream tore through the antechamber from the Isolation Room.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

In retrospect, Starbuck probably should have at least_ tried _to wipe the ear-to-ear grin off his face when Baltar had rocketed through the turbo-flush door before it had even completely opened. The traitor alternated between flailing his arms wildly and tearing at his face as he blindly turned in circles, yowling like a kicked daggit between his coughs. It reminded the amused warrior of some kind of deranged ritual practiced by an unknown barbarian tribe. Or possibly the Council of Twelve.

Oh, and he probably shouldn't have laughed.

Baltar ceased his frenzied dance, his eyes boring into Starbuck's as he abruptly realized he'd been duped. _What kind of offence is Starbuckin'? Sounds interestin'_.

"_Why you _. . ."

The older man's features changed so drastically that Starbuck's internal klaxon screamed. Instinctively, he scrambled off the bio-bed, putting it between him and the furious, worm-purging former Bureautician, just as Baltar lunged for him. He forced his body to move, resenting the sudden change from spectator to active participant.

"Whoa! Easy there, Baltar!" Starbuck felt like a daggit on a short leash as his intravenous and regeneration tubes pulled when they reached their limit as he took another step back. He was essentially tied to the bed by the tubes that stretched across it.

Baltar snarled at him from the other side of the very small bed, madness in his eyes, and a worm squiggling out of his left nostril. "I'll _kill_ you!"

"With what?" Starbuck mocked him. "You seemed to have traded in your Base Star for an army of worms, Baltar."

Oh, and maybe he shouldn't have mocked him either.

The traitor howled in rage, lunging to the right, and Starbuck did the same, predator and prey circling the bed. It probably looked comical to the people rushing into the isolation room, but when rage bordering on insanity was glaring at you with the intent to wrap his hands around your throat, a Viper pilot had to act to defend himself.

Or better yet, go on the offensive.

They had done a complete circle, bringing him back to the bio-monitor. Starbuck could feel his regeneration sleeve pulling free from his shoulder and back once again, which hurt like Hades Hole, but could definitely take a backseat to the incensed killer of Humanity chasing him down. Lords, if it had been any other day when he wasn't suffering from losing extraneous organs, being shot, and parasitic infestation, not to mention narrowly escaping comets and tidal waves, he would have given his life for a chance like this. One on one with Baltar. A man that—despite saving Starbuck's life—owed his own life several times over for his crimes against the Colonial State. All the same, Starbuck was a warrior, the other was a washed up turncoat Bureautician seeking asylum. Remembering their dip in the ocean, Starbuck almost laughed. Almost. Then a stumble. A feint. Baltar was abruptly a pace away. Starbuck smiled. It was too easy.

"Starbuck! Baltar!" Apollo snapped, apparently confused as to what exactly was going on.

Then, not as gracefully as he had wished, Starbuck dropped to his knees. With a quick pull, he upset the biomonitor on its pole. It toppled over his good shoulder at the charging traitor, becoming an unlikely spear to repel the enemy.

"_Ahh_!!" Baltar cried, as he crashed into the plunging medical equipment.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Commander Adama, the Brain Probe wasn't exactly a refined device. While efficient to a certain degree, it also occasionally scrambled a Human or otherwise organic Being's cerebral circuitry somewhat while tapping neural impulses," Malus explained to the Human leader in the shuttlecraft that had delivered him to the _Galactica_'s landing bay from the _Solarus_ for this meeting.

Adama winced. He'd forgotten that Malus' old Base Ship was comparatively archaic, carrying some old-fashioned machinery and technology, much like the IL himself. "I understood that generally there was only a risk of residual cognitive damage if the . . . _recipient_ . . ."

"Victim?" suggested the IL.

"If he was undergoing the . . ."

"Torture?"

"_Treatment_," suggested Adama with his eyebrows raised, " . . . _against_ his will." Ensign Cree, then a cadet, came to mind. They had used the probe on the young man during his incarceration by the Cylons on Arcta. The cadet's debriefing had been . . .difficult.

"Just when I think I'm beginning to understand you Humans a little bit . . ." Malus murmured in bemusement. "Yes, this is true from the data I have seen. Generally, if the subject is agreeable to having their brain probed, then there is a minimal chance of complications. About three point six four, in ten thousand. However, in the cases I've studied, never once was the subject in accordance with the tor . . . ah, treatment."

"Commander, are you recommending that we use this . . . Cylon Brain Probe as a sort of _lie detector_ on Baltar?" Solon asked.

"With Baltar's permission, of course." Adama nodded thoughtfully. "Presumably, if he's telling the truth, he'll be malleable to the arrangement."

"Is there any recorded data that illustrates its efficacy?" Solon asked the Cylon.

"Certainly," Malus replied, evidently affronted.

"If we could get it ruled as admissible evidence at Tribunal . . ." Adama mused. He looked from the IL to the Sire, arcing an eyebrow in question.

Solon nodded, "Then he _might_ have a fair chance, despite the bias."

"If it would be of help to you, Commander Adama, then I would be pleased to torture this Baltar." Malus bowed politely.

"Hmm."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Oh, c'mon!" said Porter, down on Planet 'P'. They were as short on manpower as they were on time, and he had volunteered to be part of this survey party, partly to get his mind off Dickins' fate, and partly because he didn't know when he'd have another chance to be 'planetside', as they called it. Besides, with the uncanny resemblance to Earth, this mission needed 'experts' to identify and catalogue similarities and differences. Baker was assigned to another landing party about a thousand kilometrons away. Meanwhile, next to a small fire on a beach, Porter was cooking . . . yes, _cooking__ . . ._something on a pan from the shuttle's survival pack. "Try some. I mean, hey, you have not lived, until you've tasted my galaxy-renowned and always unsurpassed _Oysters Roc-a-Porter__." _ He held some out to Cree.

Whatever it was smelled . . . _different_, as far as Ensign Cree was concerned. "Uh, well, I'm not really . . . _hungry_." It looked to be right up there along the Mess' sectonly mystery meat, as far as unappetizing was concerned.

"C'mon, Cree. These checked out as okay as far as the parasites are concerned, and besides, they're cooked. You know, on Earth people pay exorbitant sums to be fed these in overpriced restaurants that make the _Rising Star'_s lounge look like a McDonald's. Be a man."

Cree wasn't quite sure what being a man had to do with it, but the Earthlings were funny that way. "If you say so, Doctor Porter," he replied unenthused. "I'll just stick to our packs if you don't mind."

_Beep__._

_ "Ensign Cree. Lieutenant Jolly here. I need you to report back to the shuttle immediately."_

_ Saved!__ Cree pulled his communicator off his belt. _"Yes sir, Lieutenant! On my way!" Then aside to the Earthman, "Sorry, Doctor Porter. Duty calls."

"Sure. More for me." He watched the warrior walk away. "Wussie."

They were in an area as yet little affected by the after effects of the cometary impact, gathering as much data as possible on this world, including life forms, geological features, and possible sources of fuel. A mineral fairly close in chemical makeup to tylium had been found, not ten kilometrons inland from here in a region of jumbled and rugged mountains. They would mine as much as possible until the _Pegasus _was ready for full speed again, and the disposition of the old Cylon Base Ship was decided. Here, on the main southern continent, where a small river entered the sea below low sandy cliffs, the coastline sported a wide bay, and a rich ecosystem. As the tide had receded, Porter and a survey party had discovered a rich vein of metal extending out under the water, and in the tidal zone, much to Porter's delight . . .

Oysters!

He'd also found crab, clams, and nearby freshwater crawfish. All the makings for some Seafood Gumbo, and here he was without his Gumbo File'. It was shameful. Realizing he was hungry for more than _Galactica_ rations, he had decided on his first taste of 'Earth food' in thirty years, apart from the attempts he had made on the _Rising Star_ with Zeibert months ago to try and replicate old recipes with some measure of success. In no time, he had set up a sort of field kitchen. Ensign Elana, a crewwoman from the _Pegasus, _who was setting foot on real soil for the first time in three yahrens, had ended up as his impromptu assistant, helping to scan and catalogue each new life form found. There were sixty-four now. She was amazed to learn that, right down to soil bacteria, this world was virtually identical to the planet they sought, and could scarcely take her eyes off things that she long ago took for granted. Sea. Sky. Flowing water. She sighed loudly, and went back to scanning. With Adama's permission, samples were being brought back for Wilker's lab, and already Porter was plotting how to rig up a system to keep oysters growing permanently.

"It's delicious, Porter," said Elana, a short brunette who had helped to keep the _Pegasus_' computer systems running ever since the Battlestar had suffered massive damage in escaping from the Cylons. "And you eat this all the time?"

"Some people do. In fact, I used to shuck oysters in Chesapeake Bay as a boy when I visited my grandfather. Back home, it has a certain snob value, and the best oysters tend to be pretty pricey. They are also said to be an aphrodisiac." The ensign actually blushed, and he smiled at her. _So young_. He was about to offer her a clam, cooked in whatever passed for ingredients in the shuttle's pack, when Cree returned.

"I have to report back to the _Galactica_ at once. Commander's orders." He handed over his datapad.

"Have a clam to go?" Porter offered, grinning at Cree's expression of distaste.

"I'll pass," Cree replied with a lofty wave, already in full retreat and heading for his ship.

"You don't know what you're missing, Cree!"

"Somehow that's reassuring!" the ensign returned with a laugh over his shoulder.

xxxxxxxxxx

Apollo rushed towards the two men, grabbing Baltar by the shoulders, and jerking him backwards as the traitor tried to scramble through crashed medical equipment to get to Starbuck. Luana and Sheba immediately grabbed the injured pilot, unsure of who was attacking whom. However, the lieutenant was sweaty and pale, his adrenaline spent, and clearly not in any condition to initiate a fight. Though he had clearly incensed Baltar to do the same . . . somehow. Then Apollo caught the whiff of fumarello smoke in the air and spotted the disabled control panel outside the turbo flush. _Starbuck_ . . .

"Baltar! Stand down!" the captain yelled in his ear, gripping him across the chest. The man's strength was surprising.

"Unhand me!" Baltar shouted, his face flushed with rage as he lunged forward again. "After saving his miserable, worthless hide, he dared to . . ."

"I can't believe you just said that!" Starbuck spat, his eyes blazing with anger, yet cold as ice. "You murdered billions of people, and you're mad at me for causing a general evacuation of your worms! Don't you get it, Baltar? That was the best I could come up with in the situation, but given the chance . . ."

"Starbuck, that's enough!" Apollo snapped as several others came into the room, Dayton and Ryan included. "Let my father handle him."

"Like the last time?" Starbuck rejoined heatedly. "Set him free so the Cylons can turn him loose on us again?"

"_This_ . . . is _not_ the place," Apollo returned, his voice clipped. Even he didn't agree with every decision his father had made, but he certainly wouldn't criticize his commander in public, and certainly not in front of Adama's mortal enemy. How many times had he and Starbuck talked late into the rest period about how Baltar's exile might have turned out differently? Hadn't they both wished at least once that they had executed the traitor, instead of honouring Adama's pact? He could _feel_ Baltar reacting, and could imagine the smug look that had to be pasted on the traitor's face at Starbuck's raw, naked honesty. It was fortunate Apollo couldn't see it for real, or he would have been tempted to wipe it off himself. With extreme prejudice.

Starbuck opened his mouth . . . and shut it again when he met the piercing gaze of the strike captain. Immediately, he regretted his heated words, hoping he could later blame them on narcotics and possibly the worm currently climbing out of Baltar's nose . . . or the one in his own. _Frack!_

xxxxxxxxxx

"Sir," said Cree in Sire Solon's office, "I wouldn't wish a session under that thing on my worst enemy."

_Of course, Baltar__. . . _

"That bad?" asked Solon.

"Yes, Sire. Commander." Cree cast a short, sidelong glance at Malus. His natural impulse was to draw his weapon and blast the Cylon into scrap. However, after being aboard the _Abaddon_ while the IL had helped them as they engaged the Cylons, he was now warily tolerant of the cyborg's presence.

"How accurate was the data the Cylons extracted?" probed Solon. He had not been present at Cree's original debriefing following his rescue from Arcta and was being brought up to speed.

"I have no idea, sir," replied Cree. "The entire Cylon base was destroyed when the Ravishol Pulsar blew the top off the mountain. I presume the computers and all their data went up as well. I have no memory of what they got out of me after the initial interrogation when they asked me where the _Galactica_ was." He paused, adding, "I was a bit of out of it when Starbuck . . . uh, Lieutenant Starbuck finally dragged me out of that cold cell."

"What was it like?" asked Adama.

Cree sighed, the memories obviously still difficult for him. He had tried to ignore the ongoing nightmares and anxiety after Dr. Salik had initially cleared him for duty. Because of that, he had come within a hair's breadth of getting killed when—due to lack of sleep, bad judgment, and worse timing—he had almost sideswiped his wing leader's Viper on launch sectons later. Only Starbuck's lightening fast reflexes had saved them both. However, Starbuck's temper was as quick as his reflexes, and the lieutenant had threatened to shove a flight helmet down his throat until it popped out the other end, unless he came clean about what was going on. Thus began Cree's tremulous path to recovery. Only extensive therapy, the support of his wing leader and squadron mates, and immersing himself in duty had kept him on an even keel.

"It was kind of like going under from drugs when you're going for surgery, Commander. Your mind begins to blank out, but then my head felt like it was being buried in static electricity, and wanted to explode." He licked his lips. "I remember images and sounds, like a holovid played way too fast, spinning through my head so fast that I couldn't follow it. But . . ." He looked at Malus again, and the hostility in his eyes was evident, even to the IL. "But, more than anything, I remember _his_ voice. Vulpa. The Cylon commander. Asking me where the _Galactica _was before they even used that probe on me. I lied, I told him I was from the _Columbia, _but . . . a few microns later when they started the probe, I felt like I was going to go mad from all the crazy sounds and images."

"You resisted," noted Malus.

His voice, almost clinical in its detachment, gave the ensign the creeps. If it wasn't for the fact that Starbuck and Apollo both supported this unorthodox assignment, he would just as soon send Malus to Wilker's lab to be dismantled and examined, like Baltar's Cylon pilots.

"You're damn well . . ." Cree caught himself before he could fully explode, glancing at Adama apologetically. "Sorry, sir. Yes. I resisted. I resisted as hard as I could. I tried to think of other things. I tried to stay in control . . . I . . . " It all hit him again. The pain, the loss of control, and his personal disappointment and overwhelming despair when they finally moved him to the cold cell. They were done with him. He'd never see the light of day again . . .

"That's alright, Ensign," said Adama. "You needn't continue." He looked to Solon. "Well?"

"Well, as I said, if Bal . . . if _he_ agrees and cooperates with the . . . procedure without resisting the effects of the device, it might go better for him. In both senses." He looked to Cree. "Were any drugs used?"

"Not that I was aware of, sir. I was just put under this . . . ring of electronic probes, and they powered it up."

"Malus?"

"That sounds like a newer model, Commander Adama. The unit we have aboard the _Solarus_ requires a brain scan of the subject first to calibrate for species and neural network configurations. Then the procedure can begin properly. But the need for drugs was left behind long ago."

"Alright," sighed Adama. "Ensign Cree, as I said, this matter is classified. Return to the planetary survey mission."

"Yes, sir," replied Cree.

xxxxxxxxxx

"What is it?"

Luana closed her eyes, feeling the pain anew. Starbuck was lying facedown on a bio-stretcher, his shoulder and back finally redressed by Med Tech Tone, who had threatened to laser torch it to him if it came off once more. Apollo, Dayton and Ryan had all moved into the larger Isolation Room and were awaiting their final roommate. Baltar, Dr. Salik had decided, would remain on his own, with the exception of Security.

"Lu?"

This time he raised his upper body off the stretcher, propping himself up on his elbows, but moving stiffly as he turned to look at her. She had thought he had fallen asleep after the uncomfortable procedure. It had left her with a little more time to think about how to tell him. _Whether_ to tell him.

"You're awfully quiet," he ventured.

A sure sign something was wrong. She smiled slightly at his perceptiveness, almost a little surprised by it. Then again, for every time that someone had claimed Starbuck was a shallow or self-absorbed man, there were at least ten more examples that could contradict it. For another moment she contemplated just keeping the news to herself. With all that he'd been through already, he hardly needed this news. But she hadn't sealed with Starbuck to keep secrets from him. Even this one.

"I had my physical."

She heard his breath catch in his throat. Slowly, he manoeuvred his way to a sitting position, his bare feet dangling over the stretcher like a child's. A shaky hand raked its way through his hair. "Okay."

She remained silent, trying to find the words. The courage.

"Lu, you're scaring me here."

She could see his fear, and it only made the lump in her throat bigger. All their dreams, their plans, their hopes . . . then this. How could she tell him? How could she deny him something so basic as . . .

"Please, Lu. Say _something_," he begged her.

He started to move forward, a shadow of pain crossing his features, and her frozen heart somehow pumped the blood back into her legs. She rose from her chair, and crossed to take his hands, warding off his need to get off the stretcher. Sweat was already beading on his brow from his exertions, and his newfound anxieties weren't helping either. If Salik didn't find something to neutralize these parasites, she knew her man was going to get sick, and fast. Especially without a spleen. And then maybe none of this would matter . . .

It was the tears that suddenly filled his eyes that made her realize her own tears were trickling down her cheeks. She had to get the words out. It wasn't fair to him . . . "The chemical the Cylons used on us . . .on the planet . . ." she said hoarsely. Her lip began to tremble, and she hated herself for it. _Just spit it out, Lu!_

Starbuck drew a ragged breath, nodding, holding her hands, waiting for the worst. A tear escaped, trailing down his face, as if he knew what was coming. He looked tortured, reluctant to face whatever was coming, but equally unwilling to turn away. He squeezed her hands, as if he could lend her the strength to continue. He was holding his breath. She was sure of it.

Her voice was tremulous when she finally managed to say the words, "I can't . . . have . . . _babies_, Starbuck."

She choked on her words, the emotional miasma squeezing the breath from her. How could something hurt so bad that she hadn't really given any serious thought to? Hadn't they once briefly mentioned waiting until they found Earth before even considering having a family? That could be yahrens away yet. Yet her grief overwhelmed her. It was a loss as heart wrenching as losing her parents. As almost losing Starbuck. Tiny life forces in the great cosmos flickering and then dying, forever gone. _Dearest Triquetra_ . . . _why?_

Starbuck closed his eyes for the briefest of microns, swallowing hard, before pulling her against him. "_Lu_ . . ." It was more of a groan than a word. She felt him tremble, felt his chest heave as he briefly buried his face in her hair. Then he cursed beneath his breath, slipping awkwardly off the stretcher and enveloping her fully in his embrace. "I'm _so_ sorry . . ."

She was about to choke out that it wasn't his fault, but then she realized that he _wasn't_ apologizing. He too was grieving the loss of their children, their legacy, and their future. She clung to him, seeking comfort, but finding a pain equal to her own. Their shared sorrow would either tear them apart, or bind them together for all of eternity.


	42. Chapter 42

Dayton flipped through the documentation that Chameleon had just delivered via Cassie

Dayton flipped through the documentation that Chameleon had just delivered via Cassie. He sighed. This was it. He'd done it. He was _officially_ a member of the Colonial Nation.

"You're really gonna do it, eh?" Ryan asked, leaning over his shoulder in the Isolation Room as Apollo said his goodbyes to Sheba at the door. "You're retiring already from semi-retirement."

"Ryan, we owe these people a lot. If I can help in any way . . ."

"Blah, blah, blah." Ryan waved him to silence. "Who are you trying to kid? The most alive you've felt since we joined the Fleet was flying the _Endeavour_ back into action. I know that, and I wasn't even there. You, my friend, are predictable." Dayton just looked at him, saying not a word. "Okay, playing slice-n-dice with Sire Sheriff of Nottingham was the most alive. But you catch my drift."

"You know, if I get this position, we could use a good man with an engineering and aeronautics background . . ." Dayton started.

Ryan waved a finger under his nose. "Men like that are hard to find, Dayton. You know how tough the economy is these days for college grads and PhD candidates. They're usually sitting in bars, growing their hair, and trying to envision the world through the bottom of an empty glass while wondering if they should have been archaeologists instead."

Dayton frowned, reminded of the accusation he had hurled at his friend in the control room on the planet, just after he punched him. He crossed his arms, and scowled. "How many times do I have to apologize for that?"

"One more time should do it." Ryan replied, rubbing his bruised jaw. "Not that I'm keeping score, actually."

"Worms, Ryan. Worms." Dayton rejoined. "You gave me _worms_."

"Incidental, in comparison." Ryan protested.

"How do you figure?"

"I also have worms. I was merely sharing them with you, my fearless leader." Ryan chuckled, climbing onto the bio-bed.

"Anyone ever tell you just how annoying you can be, Boris Badanov?"

"Not for the last ten minutes or so, no."

Dayton sighed, glancing at his friend. On Ryan's suggestion, the medical team were now testing a Koivee extract on the worms. Thirty years of eating the foulest of foods that they could dig up, catch or steal to supplement their steady diet of Koivee Root, they had never once had trouble with the parasites that they had known existed in abundance inside the asteroid station. As Baker used to say, the larvae were merely additional protein in a mainly carbohydrate diet. They already knew that the Koivee had protected their health, and had certainly slowed the normal aging process, knowing as they did that an average Earth man of seventy years didn't have their energy and stamina . . . unless he was Clint Eastwood. And admittedly, they looked a hell of a lot better than Eastwood had at seventy. The Koivee had seemed to have slowed their aging process. A modified fountain of youth in the form of 'rotting root', taking a good ten years off their age.

"You know, Paddy, Dorado said there are squadrons of Cylon Raiders in various stages of disrepair. We could salvage a lot of them and somehow modify them for Colonial Warriors. With _Il Faro_ on our side . . ."

Ryan chuckled. "_Il Faro_, huh? I like it. I thought you hated that Cylon?"

Dayton shrugged, envisioning Malus with a Zorro stylised cape and a wide-brimmed, black hat. "Hate's a strong word. He could be useful. There's certainly nobody that knows their technology better."

"What are you trying to drag me into now, Dayton? I have a nice pad on the _Rising Star_, a beautiful, intelligent woman who tolerates me, and a solid income teaching Colonials all about Earth. Hey, I was even talking to Apollo's sister about doing a regular gig in some of the instructional periods with the kids."

"You don't have to give up your day job. Just do a little moonlighting for me." Dayton suggested, feeling a little strange that he even needed to ask. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd be doing this on his own, without his men. He'd just assumed they'd follow. "Give it some thought. Think about what we could accomplish here. Taking an old alien hunk of junk and turning it into not only the most amazing decoy this side of the Pecos, but also a top notch warship for when the Cylons get near enough to kiss."

"Oh? So not only would we be attracting any enemy ships that happen along our way, but we'd be eventually engaged in battle with them, at least once we had hopefully lulled them into some sense of complacency?"

Dayton grinned. "Yeah. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, just about as much fun as an asteroid full of pirates, Mark."

"Well hey, that show ran for thirty years."

"Don't remind me."

xxxxxxxxxx

"How are you, old friend?"

Cain averted his gaze from the vid-screen above his bio-bed, and glowered at Adama. "For a man who has just been told that his future might rely on the technical prowess of a mong-raking Cylon, and an _antiquated_ one at that_,_ I've been better, Adama. Just absolutely tops."

The _Galactica_ commander nodded his understanding. He could only imagine Cain's reaction to the news that Malus—along with Dr. Wilker and Dr. Sobek—was involved in the reconfiguration of the implant that could restore his motor function, and his life. It was irony with a twist of sarcasm _and_ a poke in the eye.

"It's the end result that really matters, Cain." Adama replied. "We need you back on your feet, and back on the Bridge of the _Pegasus_. _I_ need you there."

Cain paused for a moment before replying, "I need that too. Lords of Kobol, I do . . ." He let out a deep breath of frustration. "I hate lying here waiting, Adama. And my thinking is muddled, and I hate that too. I feel like a man stuck in a fog . . ." He slapped the bedding, then shook his head sharply, as if clearing it, then paused for a moment before changing the subject and asking, "How will it go on the Cylon Base Ship joining the Fleet at the Council meeting? What's your feeling?"

"Tinia suggested there is mounting opposition, mostly spurred by Domra."

Cain grunted. "I've only met Domra once, and that briefly, but my impression of the man . . ." He smiled humourlessly, "Well, let's just say he was a gallmonging snitradious paper pushing bonehead."

"Eloquently put, Cain," Adama smiled. "The fact that we barely have the manpower to crew two Battlestars after your devastating battle with the Cylons sectars ago, seems to be his main argument. That and the obvious connotations of welcoming a Cylon Base Ship into the Fleet. The very thought is anathema to most of us."

"Not a Cylon Base Ship, Adama. A _Covert Operations Ship_," Cain replied with a half-smile.

Adama chuckled. "Your thinking doesn't seem too muddled to me, my friend."

"You might change your mind about that when I suggest reinstating the Military Draft for compulsory recruitment," Cain replied with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a bureaucratic nightmare, Cain." Adama returned with a grimace. "The practice assumes that the State has ownership over its people, rather than vice versa. It is a perversion of the very foundation that the Colonies were built upon: a bureaucracy of, by and for the people. The draft assumes the opposite. A people of, by and for the bureaucracy."

"Adama, we've practiced conscription for centi-yahrens," Cain argued. The regularized six sectar long military training of the entire male population, generation after generation, once they had graduated from public school, had been a universal practice in a nation that had been at war for a thousand yahrens. In the last centi-yahren, young women had also been added to the conscription requirements, when previously narrow-minded leaders realized their potential could rise beyond support occupations. In the Colonies, a large percentage of those conscripted went on to extend their mandatory military term into a career in the Service. Large enough that the Military Draft hadn't been utilized for over five hundred yahrens. "With military manpower at a deficit, it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Voluntary recruitment makes for a more cohesive and effective force. We have to think of morale, Cain. Not just military morale, but that of the civilian population. They're already trapped in an unforgiving situation, travelling through the universe looking for Earth, stuck inside horrid metal boxes that can barely support them. This might be the straw that breaks the dromodon's back," Adama rejoined.

"That's the Bureautician in you talking, Adama," Cain replied with a frown. "You're concerned that you'd lose support for your journey to Earth. Yet, with the discovery of these Earthmen, the way I understand it, support for your quest is stronger than ever."

"_Quest_," Adama repeated ruefully. The word seemed to describe an airy-fairy search for the mythological, rather than a purposeful journey. "Even _you_ must believe it's true now, Cain. Real living Earthmen, substantiating their existence. Retrieved treasures and recorded documentation from their planet." Adama sighed. "And now we know that the Cylons may very well beat us there. We _have_ to go, Cain. By all the Lords, we might arrive in time to save what remains of the Thirteenth Tribe. It's our ethical responsibility."

Cain shrugged. "I suppose you would see it that way, but many others wouldn't. Our brothers are a distant memory, with the passing of millennia. However, if we were strong enough _after_ finding Earth, we could return to the Colonies. Retake them." He paused a moment. "If what you say is true, and with our help Earth becomes technologically advanced enough to ward off a Cylon invasion, then maybe we could find the military support we need there . . . the strength."

Adama studied the other for a long moment. "Always thinking ahead. Do you truly think that by then there would be anything left of the Colonies to reclaim?"

"I have to, Adama. I _have_ to." Cain's voice took on a hard edge, like it did when he was going into battle. Adama could see the anger, the boiling hatred of the Cylons, just beneath the surface. "From the stories I've heard, not everybody managed to make it to a ship. There must have been survivors."

"Either the Cylons would have hunted them down and eradicated them, or they would be living like vermin, hiding in holes," Adama replied quietly. It was something he tried not to think about. Those they left behind, and what had become of them. "God help them . . . because we can't."

"No. Not now, we can't. Not while we're limping along with one and a half functional Battlestars, but if we can add to our military might with the _Solarus_, we'll not only be in a better defensible position, but we could go on the offensive." His eyes seemed to glimmer, and his face became more animated. "We wouldn't so much be on the run, as we would merely be journeying across the galaxy to our . . . destiny." He smiled slightly, leaving Adama with the opinion that the word 'destiny' had been carefully selected for his sake. "We have to find a way to increase our manpower _now_, Adama. A military draft would take care of that."

Adama drew a deep breath, glancing across the Life Station at Starbuck as he talked to his new bride in the doorway of an Isolation Chamber. The couple seemed to be alone in their thoughts, caught in a tender moment that somehow seemed to set them apart from all else. Starbuck gently cupped Lu's face with one hand and then leaned forward to kiss her, then tipped his forehead against hers and quietly said a few words. She nodded in response, her eyes conspicuously bright, before replying.

In contrast, Adama could hear the animated conversation coming from the Isolation Room that Apollo had finally entered. Dayton and Ryan were, as usual, debating something. It triggered a memory of a conversation that Adama had once had with Dayton, and gave him an idea.

"Cain, I'm going to discuss this with Commander Dayton. He once told me he had some very strong opinions on military drafts, based on his country's history. The _Solarus_ will be his ship, if we can get this past Council. I'm wondering if Earthmen have another way of increasing voluntary recruitment that we haven't thought of." Then he smiled slightly. "Come to think of it, Starbuck and Dorado are innovative young warriors. Between the three of them, if they really want to make this project work, they might come up with something."

The Juggernaut snorted, shaking his head. "And if they don't?"

"Then we might have to reconsider the draft."

"Now there's a thought," smiled Cain.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Top of the news today is that Tribunal has found Sire Uri, former member of the Council of Twelve, guilty of extortion and blackmail, under Colonial Law," Zed reported on the _IFB_.

"An interesting turn of events, in that Tribunal has decided to place Sire Uri on house arrest, instead of sending him to the Prison Barge," Zara added, beside her co-anchor. "Apparently, the Barge is bursting at the bulkheads with the criminal population, and Tribunal needed to get creative about how to incarcerate the Sire."

The screen flickered to show a perfectly calm Sire Uri as he left the proceedings. He paused, politely fielding a few questions, ever the consummate bureautician.

" . . . completely missed the point, of course," Uri was saying, in the sound bite, immaculately bedecked in a white robe. "Of course, I'm disappointed that Tribunal chose to ignore the evidence I submitted on my own behalf. While their interpretation was that I was trying to discredit a self-proclaimed Earthman, they gave little consideration to my submission that this Commander Dayton and his men haven't been any closer to the purely mythical Earth than I have." He raised his eyebrows ruefully. "I was merely trying to expose this despicable conspiracy and let my people know the truth. I stand by my statement that this is a plot hatched by Commander Adama and the Empyrean witch, Ama, to further mislead our people into prolonging this senseless journey, when we should be securing a planet to settle, and giving our people back their lives. Their future. Especially with two Battlestars and now a salvageable Cylon Base Ship to protect us."

"But Sire, even you have seen the evidence of the Earth ship, as well as the data files that these Earthmen have revealed. Data that proves Earth exists."

"The ship that was conveniently used for a mission from which it didn't return before it went on display for the Fleet?" Uri asked sceptically. "The remains of hundreds of ships were on that pirate asteroid base. None of them came from Earth." Sire Uri insisted. "Ships from all over the galaxy had been salvaged. Adama merely took advantage of five desperate men who wanted out of that Godforsaken place, offering them a role to play for him. Conveniently, the military then destroyed the base, erasing all real evidence. What we ended up with was what Commander Adama _wanted_ us to believe. A fascinating tale of intrigue and woe that substantiated his claims about Earth." He smiled. "And a dashing hero in Commander Dayton to provide an entertaining escape for our people from the dour existence they have been forced to lead. I understand the _IFB_ is even planning a sectonly drama that chronicles their reported thirty yahrens picking Koivee Root." He managed to look like he had just been sucking on the same.

"This sounds like a conspiracy theory, Sire Uri," a reporter told him. "Do you have any evidence to back up charges so radical?"

"We're _living_ the conspiracy theory, Keane," the Sire replied. "After the Destruction, Earth was a magical symbol, meant to calm the people, and give them hope when all seemed to be lost. But Adama's lies and deceptions are overdue to be exposed. And the only man brave enough to tell the people of the Fleet about them is about to be locked up for three yahrens . . . while Adama continues to diminish Council authority, and lead in his trademark nepotistic style, with a dash of mythology and folklore thrown in for good measure." The contempt and sarcasm in Uri's voice was thick and undisguised.

The picture flashed back to Zed and Zara in the _IFB_ studio.

"Speaking of which . . .with rumours of the possible introduction of a Cylon Base Ship into the Fleet, as well as the rediscovery of the _Pegasus_, it sounds as though there will finally be some room for promotions, advancement and movement within the military, Zed."

"Indeed, Zara. It only remains to be seen who will be assigned where, and how they're going to recruit enough manpower for that derelict Base Ship, assuming Council passes the bid that they scrap the _Aptian_ Freighter. Now, living aboard a Cylon ship is one assignment that I personally wouldn't want."

"It does present with difficulties. Who do _you_ see commanding the Base Ship?"

"Well, I can't help but think that the most likely man for that job would be Colonel Tigh." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "His record and experience certainly speak for themselves."

"From Battlestar to Base Ship? Sounds more like a _de_motion," Zara smiled. "And to replace him?"

"Well, I should think that would be obvious. Without implying that any . . . _nepotism_ is at play," he smiled, knowing that he had done just that, "Captain Apollo would be first man in line for that job."

"But aren't there _other_ captains . . .

"Well, that raises Lieutenant Sheba's abrupt promotion to Strike Captain of the _Pegasus_, seemingly ignoring all others in line for that position," Zed pointed out. "What would Command Central back on Caprica think? And, primaries for thought, don't forget there _is_ a colonel on the _Celestra_. Captain Apollo has some competition for second in command of the _Galactica_. And if Commander Adama wants to avoid the accusations of nepotism that Sire Uri just put in everybody's mind, and Commander Cain is also demonstrating . . ."

"Ah, Colonel Croft. I admit I had forgotten about him. As far as I know he has been a capable leader since taking command of the _Celestra_ following the death of Commander Kronus."

"Yet there is that little matter of his imprisonment."

"For which he was given a full pardon following his participation in the mission on Arcta. That man was responsible for saving the lives of every man, woman and child in this Fleet. Without his expertise under those harsh conditions, as well as his leadership, that mission would have surely failed."

"He also lost his wife on Arcta. She fell under Cylon fire, if I have my facts straight, Zed."

"Correct. A sacrifice that will be remembered by our people as we watch and wait to see how this all unfolds."

"I can't help but mention that Captain Apollo was also part of the Arcta mission. He was in command overall. And, like Colonel Croft, he lost a wife to Cylon fire on Kobol," Zara added thoughtfully. "Two men with experience, leadership skills, who have both sacrificed loved ones in the name of duty. This should be an interesting outcome."

"Sadly, there are few in the Fleet who haven't lost someone," Zed added, shaking his head with just the right amount of insincere sincerity.

"Sad indeed."

"Yes, but keeping in mind that one of these men comes from an underprivileged background, clawing his way up through the ranks, and that the other is Commander Adama's son. I don't think I, for one, will be all that surprised at the final decision. The times seem to favour family over seniority."

"Time will tell, Zed," Zara returned. She turned to face the main camera. "Alright, we're going to take a short break, but will return for more of the Forenoon Report when we will give you—our audience—an opportunity to telecom and discuss what you think of Sire Uri's incarceration, and his accusations about men that we have comfortably accepted are from Earth."

"As well as Commander Adama's leadership, and these accusations of nepotism. We want to know what _you_ think," Zed added. "And now for a word from our sponsor. Flintex; the premium name in flame . . ."

With a grunt of disgust, Commander Cain flipped off the monitor, and tossed the remote across the room. "Med tech!"

"Yes, Commander?" replied Waheeb, at once in attendance.

"Get me a basin. Now."

"Are you sick, Commander?"

"I just saw those two simpering gossipmongers on IFB.Wouldn't you be?"

xxxxxxxxxx

"One thing you might try, Commander," said Dayton in Dr. Salik's office, "is offering what we back home called a 'signing bonus'. A bulk payment on enlistment. Now, I don't know much yet about your economic and banking situation here in the Fleet, but for some folks living in lousy conditions aboard some of these scows, the idea of using that chunk of change to better the living conditions of their civilian loved-ones left aboard might be an incentive for some. Enough to make it worth trying."

"Hmm," replied Adama, rubbing his chin, and considering Dayton's words. "That's an interesting idea."

"We found it a workable solution at times, back home," replied the Earthman. "Like you, we generally viewed conscription as incompatible with the concepts of liberty. Now I know that having an alien empire breathing down your necks is a bit different than our Cold War, or ousting Saddam Hussein, but we managed to recruit sufficient numbers of personnel without a draft."

"I am gratified that we see things similarly," replied Adama. "What else?"

"Well, your cadets. As I understand from Starbuck and Colonel Tigh, most of your Cadet Corps training takes place aboard the _Galactica._"

"Yes. With our situation, there's little choice."

"Exactly. Now, what if you spread that training out? The kids' first cadet cruise could be aboard the Base Ship, since your sphere of operations is so limited. And, as machinery and instrumentation aboard the Base Ship is gradually replaced and upgraded with Colonial equipment, some of your cadets could get at least part of their training there, freeing up space and time aboard the _Galactica_ for other things, or for possibly expanded classes." Dayton looked at the commander, eyebrow raised in question.

"Excellent idea," replied Adama, nodding. "And it has the added benefit of handing the Council a . . . what do you call it?"

"A _fait accompli, _sir," replied Dayton. "With work, and training already a given, regarding the other ship, it could pull a tooth or two on your Council."

"And you could take charge of the first class of such cadets," offered Adama.

"Well, all I know is how we did it back at the Air Force Academy, but Captain Apollo has already given me some of your training manuals to study, Commander, and with Starbuck and Dorado on my team—assuming you've finalized that decision—I'm sure we'll do fine. Both of them have experience with cadet training, and they're good leaders. I confess that I'll be learning along with the cadets, for the most part."

"It's your leadership abilities that I'm after, Commander Dayton, not your basic knowledge of Colonial command and ceremonies," replied Adama with a slight smile. "You certainly have the support of your subordinate officers, and any man that can inspire Starbuck to a command position deserves his own ship."

Dayton chuckled. "Providing you can talk Council into it."

"With Captain Dorado's report on the Base Ship, at least some of the Council will see sense."

"Politicians rarely see 'sense', Commander. At least not as those of us who have devoted our lives to the military arts would describe it. But, if given the opportunity, I'll give it—as we say back home—my best shot."

"One can ask no more." Adama rose, and then stopped. "Oh, I understand you submitted a report to Colonel Tigh, suggesting a course of action regarding Cylon pursuit?"

"Yes, I did. I guess it hasn't cycled through yet. We have a lot of wrecked Cylon fighters, as you know. Now, sooner or later, the little cockroaches are going to find this system. That other ship may have even transmitted its location, before engaging us in battle."

"Actually . . . it was the _Abaddon_ that automatically transmitted an Electro-Identification Beacon when we rebooted its systems," Adama admitted reluctantly.

"Oh, for the love of . . ." Dayton clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head, and finally asked, "Did that IL Cylon have something to do with it?"

"Quite the opposite. Our own scientist inadvertently triggered it. Malus stopped it as soon as he arrived on the Bridge. That was his first visit to the Base Ship . . . in a hundred yahrens, anyhow."

"I see. So they'll definitely be coming this way."

"Yes, the question is how long will it take them. Your idea?" Adama prompted him.

"Right. Well, we could just . . . leave a few fighters behind us, when we leave here."

"Leave?"

"Yes, Commander. Leave a few Cylon fighters, suitably damaged, adrift in the system. With wrecked centurions aboard, and transmitting very weak distress calls. Nothing that could punch its way out of the system." He leaned forward, and grinned. "And inside each one of those fighters, we leave the bastards a token of our appreciation."

"A bomb?" said Adama, tumbling to it.

"Yes, just like Dorado did with those centurions he released into space against that other Base Ship. In each ship, we leave a small nuclear device. You guys use something called . . . uh . . ."

"Solonite."

"That's it. The way that Starbuck tells it, if configured right, a solonite bomb of sufficient size can pack the punch of a uranium or plutonium device. Now, we plant one aboard each fighter. The Cylons pull one or more in to resurrect the crew and find out what happened, and . . ." He grinned again. "_Boom._"

"Commander Dayton, _that_ is an excellent suggestion."

"Uh huh. Base Ship mysteriously disappears, before it can get a line on where we've gone. If the rest of their fellow garbage cans ever find them, there will only be Cylon debris, and no indication that you were involved at all. It will cover our trail effectively for some time."

"I like the way you think," smiled Adama. "How soon can it implemented?"

"The first could be ready to go in six hours or less from what one of your engineers tells me. Just give Dorado the word."

"Very well." He watched as Dayton got up. "Where are you off to now?"

"I need to pick Starbuck's brain. He's a mastermind at getting people to do exactly what he wants them to, without them knowing it."

"You'd be well advised to keep that in mind in the future," Adama chuckled. "Keep me posted on developments."

"I shall." Dayton glanced at his Colonial watch, pausing as usual to consider the time. "When is the Council meeting?"

"In two centars."

"Rumour has it, they're having some success with the Koivee Extract they've developed. With any luck, I might just make it as planned," replied Dayton.

"Your input as Earth Liaison Officer could only help."

"Does the Council know about Baltar turning up like a bad penny yet, sir?"

Adama frowned. "Not yet. I thought I could use the news to . . . _deflect_ some of their attention from the _Solarus_, and our plans for its use."

"Dropping the most hated man in Colonial history onto their laps might just have that effect," Dayton nodded, his respect evident. "Have you ever played 'Chess', Commander?"

"_Chess_?" Adama wrapped his tongue around the word.

"An Earth game of strategy. It dates back many centuries. Remind me to introduce you to it some time. Then again, I suspect you've been playing it for years."

Adama merely smiled in return.

xxxxxxxxxx

He looked lost, but Baltar had a bad feeling that he wasn't. At least not physically. Tall, skinny, with an uncontrollable shock of poorly cut black hair, a lesser quality robe, and bad skin that was usually an indication of youth, there was really only one conclusion Baltar could realistically draw.

"My Protector?" the traitor asked, with a sickly expression on his features, as he tore his gaze from the _IFB_ monitor and its amusing discussion of Adama and Cain's nepotistic tendencies, and some ridiculous conspiracy theory that viewers seemed to be divided on. Even he found the bulk of them laughable, but increasingly entertaining and preferable to his other pastime of passing worms.

"Squire Maelgwn," the young man nodded, regarding Baltar with a sort of fascination, as if he couldn't quite believe that he was there.

His gaze made Baltar feel his was on a kind of display pedestal. He scrunched up his features. The boy had mumbled the words, so as to make them undecipherable to Baltar's ear. "Excuse me?"

"Squire Maelgwn," the youngster repeated, then sounded it out more slowly as the other continued to regard him in confusion. "_Mile-gun_. It's Libran. And yes, I have been assigned as your Protector."

"Fresh from instructional period, no doubt," Baltar looked at him sceptically. "Is this your first case?"

The boy stood silently for a moment, shuffling from foot to foot, before shrugging and replying, "My second."

Baltar closed his eyes, feeling the blood drain from his face. For a moment, he envied the centurion class its inability to feel emotion. Yes, he was entitled to a defence, every Colonial was, regardless of the alleged crime, but if this was it . . . He took a deep breath, before regarding the youngster again. "Did you at least win your _first_ case?"

Squire Maelgwn glanced up at the _IFB_ screen as Sire Uri's face came on screen. "No, sir." Then he winced as though regretting calling Baltar 'sir'.

"_You_ defended Uri?" Baltar asked incredulously.

"I was working _with_ Sire Steinar. He was Sire Uri's Protector," Maelgwn explained. Steinar was a senior Protector, his career going back deca-yahrens.

"How reassuring . . ." Baltar frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "And if I refuse your services?"

"Nobody else would take this case," Maelgwn squirmed. Obviously, he hadn't wanted it either. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

"I see," Baltar replied, contemplating representing himself. However, there was an old saying that a man who defended himself had a fool for a client . . . "You've studied my case?"

"Yes . . . Count," he nodded, as though settling on that title of distinction for addressing the Betrayer of Mankind. "We need to establish that you are speaking the truth when you say that you were a prisoner of the Cylons following Commander Adama granting you amnesty and exiling you to that planet."

Baltar sniffed in derision. "And how do you intend to do that? Telecom the Imperious Leader and ask him yourself?"

"No, Count. We have at our disposal a technology that should bring out the truth in this matter."

"Oh?" asked Baltar, trying to seem mildly interested. Right now he just wished this bright, young thing would go away.

"Yes, Count Baltar. It is a Cylon Brain Probe. If you're agreeable, we shall use Cylon technology to prove your . . ." He looked undecided on the choice of words, "innocence."

Baltar raised an eyebrow at the horrific concept of using a well-known Cylon interrogation device in his defence. While he had never had occasion to use it on anyone himself, he had studied old reports, and knew that the probe's side-effects could be . . . grim. "How utterly ironic."

Maelgwn smiled, "Isn't it?"

xxxxxxxxxx

Starbuck stroked Luana's soft hair, holding her against him, rocking her gently and nodding at Dayton briefly as the Earthling left Dr. Salik's office and proceeded to the allocated Isolation Room. It was one Hades of a way to start a marriage, finding out that Luana had ended up infertile due to the fracking chemical she had been exposed to on Planet 'P'. Personally, Starbuck wasn't quite sure how he should deal with this. After all, ever since his first encounter with a girl, he'd done his utmost to avoid 'complications', and was thus never anxious to become a parent. If they had been infertile due natural causes, so be it. Still now, more than _anything_, he knew that now he had to be there for Lu. To at least try and help her through the pain she was experiencing, a pain he didn't fully understand. He tried to fight against his rising anger, his knee-jerk reaction to find Malus and disassemble him, piece by piece for subjecting them to this. But that wouldn't help either of them right now.

"Lu, from what Dr. Salik said, things might change. There's still hope," he whispered, aware of curious glances in the Life Station—most of them compassionate—directed their way. Salik had stopped in for a quick moment to say that there were several avenues yet to be explored. The chemical effect that repressed her hormonal production might be short term. There could be a treatment developed to counteract the toxin. As yet, there was more unknown about the situation than there was known. "The effects might be only temporary, especially with the toxin being so old."

"It's not like we were planning to start a family right away, anyhow," she replied bravely, her voice thick with emotion.

The tremors moving through her told him that she was barely holding it together. "Yeah, especially with me in the Life Station, and you currently in the women's billet," he smiled gently, as an uncomfortable prickling sensation started at his shoulder, stampeding once more down to his hand. He wiggled the fingers, aware that the tips of them were now totally numb, and tried to will his nerves to cooperate with the tender moment.

They ignored him.

"I guess I'd better see about getting us couple's quarters," Luana murmured.

"That would be nice. I hear the equipment room in the Fitness Centre isn't assigned at the moment," he teased her.

"Oh, _you _sound hopeful." Her rueful smile was genuine this time. "We can billet with the rest of the dumbbells."

He laughed at that before adding, "Well, nothing happens very quickly in the military, unless there's a Cylon involved." His features darkened for a moment, as thoughts of Malus, and reversing the wavelon flow through his diodes at terminal voltons once again intruded.

"Then I guess you'll have to get us quarters on the _Solarus_."

"From what Dorado said, the accommodations are a little austere, Lu, even by Colonial Warrior standards. It's not exactly the honeymoon suite on the _Rising Star_." Though the words were said in jest, he realized he meant every word of them. She deserved so much more than to be sent back to the billet by herself, while he awaited the passage of yet another worm. However, a secton-long vacation in Tropica seemed to be out of the question for now.

Her eyes seemed to search his for a moment. "I'm Empyrean, Starbuck. I could sleep on the ground if I had to, and our people never had a _Rising Star_ to retreat to on their wedding night. None of that matters to me. I just want _us_ to be together. As soon as we can be. As soon as you're well."

He nodded briefly. It was one of those situations that mattered more to him based on his own society's expectations, than it did to her.

She kissed him lightly. "Get some rest, _Innamorato_. I'm going to go see Colonel Tigh, and try to apply for couple's quarters." Then she melted once again into his embrace, murmuring into his ear, "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered. She pulled back, reluctantly turning to leave with a backward glance at him. Slowly, he moved towards the new Isolation Chamber he had been assigned to with Dayton, Apollo and Ryan.

"You okay?" Apollo asked immediately as he walked into the room.

Obviously, his friend hadn't missed how upset Lu had been. He nodded mutely, as Dayton and Ryan both regarded him critically. The news could wait for another time.

"Hey, they're just worms. Suck it up, Buttercup," Dayton quipped.

An off-the-cuff remark that was so typical of Dayton, it made Starbuck want to drill the Earthling into oblivion. With a wooden club. Instead, he found himself doing as directed, an ingrained habit from yahrens in military service. "You know, after being called 'Buttercup', I'm actually warming up to 'Solarus' . . ." he rejoined instead with a smile.

Dayton chuckled, oblivious that he had hit a nerve, or why. "Speaking of which, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about, _Pike Place Roast_."

Inwardly, Starbuck sighed. Obviously, Dayton was all revved up about something. He could see it in the man's aspect; the glimmer in his eye, the nicknames, the way he was holding himself. He climbed onto the empty bio-bed closest to the Earthling, gingerly trying to find a comfortable position as he waited for a med tech to reconnect him to the regeneration system. "What's that?"

"Calling my ship _Solarus_." Dayton looked as though he had just crunched down on a rotten Koivee root, not that most of them would know the difference.

Starbuck grinned as Apollo chuckled metrons away. The lieutenant let a grin of satisfaction spread across his features with reckless abandon, knowing it would rile Dayton. "Not a bad name, huh? I kind of like it."

"You would, Sunny Boy," Dayton grunted. "Personally, I think you should take that name and stick it where the 'sol' doesn't shine." He shared a smile with Ryan before adding, "Look, it's like this, kid. It's bad luck."

Starbuck rolled over and looked at him, shrugging. "I'm not that superstitious."

"You're tempting fate, _Sidamo_."

"Really?" Starbuck drawled, finding the concept curiously intriguing. "How so?"

"In Greek tragedies . . ." he paused as Starbuck raised an eyebrow in query. "An ancient and respected Earth civilisation that we studied extensively because of their culture, political system, mythology, religion, art and literature. Usually when the protagonist in a Greek tragedy behaved hubristically, it would undoubtedly lead to his downfall."

"I'm not a Geek, Dayton."

"_Greek_," the other automatically corrected him, sounding it out more slowly. "I'm not _Greek_."

"You either? Then what's the problem?" Starbuck replied, the twinkle in his eye and the smile playing on his lips probably giving him away.

Dayton sighed, waving a hand in frustration, "It's like . . . like taunting God to name a ship after yourself, Starbuck. It's the ultimate in arrogance and pride."

He snorted, "Felgercarb. Besides, _I_ didn't name her."

"That doesn't matter," Dayton replied. "You could still be bringing divine retribution down upon her."

"Divine retribution?" Starbuck glanced at Ryan, furrowing his brow. "Is he for real?"

"I pinched him once to find out," Ryan replied with a shrug. "He hit me."

"It was my wife that hit you, if you recall," scoffed Dayton.

"Oh, yeah. Right," Ryan nodded. "Something about _her_ being the only one allowed to pinch you . . ."

"Hmm," Starbuck murmured, glancing back at Dayton. "C'mon, you have to admit that it's hysterically funny that a Cylon Base Ship is going to carry _my_ birth name." From humble beginnings in the Thorn Forest, to multiple orphanages and foster homes, to Prince Solarus of the Empyrean Imperial Family. What were the odds?

"Conceded," Dayton nodded, a slight smile on his lips. "But I still don't like it, and if you want _me_ to command her, I think I should have _some_ say in her name."

"Fair enough," Starbuck agreed. "I guess I did kind of drag you into this, though you weren't exactly kicking and screaming about it. What do you _want_ to call her?"

"_Endeavour_," Dayton replied, first glancing at Ryan who nodded his approval, then he looked back to Starbuck. It was clear from Dayton's sceptical expression that he expected resistance.

Starbuck shrugged, simply not caring, especially with Lu on his mind. He certainly had a lot more weighing on his thoughts right now than what to call an old Cylon rust bucket. "_Endeavour_ it is."

"That was easy," Ryan muttered in surprise.

"Yeah . . ." Dayton nodded, looking at Starbuck searchingly. "Are you sick, kid?"

Starbuck sniffed in amusement. Apparently, he had to be violently ill if he didn't come up with a viable argument. It actually summarized their relationship fairly accurately. Neither liked to cede ground. "It's going to be an interesting working relationship if this all goes ahead."

"That's for sure," Apollo added, aware that while Dorado was an able and intelligent warrior, that he had a habit going back to their Academy days of letting Starbuck get away with termination. He excelled at getting men to work together as equals, rather than leading them. With Dayton and Starbuck locking horns, and Dorado ceding ground to Starbuck, they would definitely have some issues to address, and right now all they needed was _more _issues.

"By the way, is it against your regulation manual to hit a superior officer?" Dayton asked.

"Define 'superior'," Starbuck retorted, ducking as Dayton threw a pillow his way. "We might have to toss the reg manual and just wing it." He glanced at Apollo, who was merely shaking his head. "It's due for revision anyhow, isn't it?"

"Hmm. It's going to be a Colonial ship unlike any other," the captain inserted wryly.

"But only if we manage to recruit the necessary people," Dayton replied, looking at Starbuck. "Any ideas, _Affogato_?"

Starbuck nodded. "Yeah. I was thinking of that place you told me about. Dizzyland."

"Dizzyland, huh? Close enough," Dayton smirked, wondering what Walt would think of the bastardisation of his beloved amusement park way out here in Tomorrowland. Hell, even Pluto was likely to be choked. "Go on."

"Well, those recruitment adds we're running featuring Omega are a little dated. We need something that's _really_ going to grab the attention of Fleet." He grinned as the others leaned forward, nodding expectantly. "Something that will make people want to be a part of the _Endeavour _'s crew."

"Mickey Mouse is gonna do that?" Ryan asked. His expression could have made a corpse look animated.

"Huh?" Starbuck frowned, then shook his head, not wanting a lengthy explanation just now. "Never mind. I'm talking about those three-dimensional holo-vids you were telling me about that make the audience feel like they're a part of the action. We could use the simulators and stage a daggit-fight that makes the viewers feel as though they're the ones in the cockpit, fighting the Cylons. Hades, some of my best ones are probably still in the data files. Apollo's too."

"Not bad, kid . . ." Dayton murmured, remembering taking his nephew to the IMAX to see _Operation Red Flag_. "Baker could help with that. He's already familiar with some of the technical aspects from the _Journey to Earth_ bit we did not long after we arrived in the Fleet. We could get it playing on cine-screens all over the Fleet, just before the nightly feature."

"Yeah, a minute or so of IMAX, then pan in on the new_ Endeavour_, with a virtual tour of how she might look when the reno's are finished," Ryan grinned. "Just like on the Home Channel. People love the makeovers! We could CGI Bob Vila into it, and call it _This Old Base Ship._"

"Ryan, remind me to maim you after this meeting," said Dayton.

"Maim me?" Ryan chuckled, then sang in decent impression of Al Jolson, "_Maim-me, how I love you, how I love you, my dear old Maim-me!_"

"Maybe we could retrieve some telemetry from the _Galactica_ of her taking on that Base Star," Apollo added, getting them back on track. A line of Command full of comedians with no straight man in sight, he didn't envy Dorado his new promotion . . . well, maybe he did just a _little_ bit. "We could emphasize the fact that she's supposed to be operating as a Covert Operations Ship, and how important that will be to the Fleet."

"Compared to babysitting two-hundred and twenty-odd ships, it could be an exciting assignment," Starbuck inserted. "I can think of a few who might go for that. Especially with my ideas for the Officer's Club and Rejuvenation Centre."

"Add to that the sign-up bonus that Commander Adama is considering, and the fact that we're planning to take over a good chunk of the Academy training, it might look pretty good to new people," Dayton smiled.

"Yeah, and you might want something in there to appeal to other facets of the Service, like the trades. Between tearing apart the _Aptian_ Freighter, restoring the _Pegasus_ and _Endeavour_, and building new hybrid fighters, we're going to need a ton of new technical people," Ryan reminded them. "Don't exclude them in favour of just recruiting warriors."

"That's a good point, Ryan," Apollo nodded. "Maybe at the tail end of the holo-vid we could do something a little more general which gets the point across that we need men and women in several areas, and that all are important to our survival. We can't forget communications, electronics maintenance, and scanner techs."

"Mechanics to service and maintain the fighters. Plus figuring out all that Cylon technology," Ryan added. "It's like our services back home. There's no end of the technical support jobs you need to maintain ships and planes."

"And we haven't even designed the new fighters yet," Dayton said with a pointed look at Ryan.

"Ah hem."

The men turned to see Cassiopeia standing at the door holding a small med cup filled with a vile coloured liquid. She smiled benignly, in that way that only med techs could manage, and then handed the cup to Dayton.

Dayton grimaced and held it up, examining it closely. He sat up, catching a whiff of it. "What's this stuff?"

Ryan joined him, sitting beside him on the bio-bed, and replied sagaciously, "Koivee Extract." He sniffed it. "From the south end of the vineyard, Chateau Le Cesspool, vintage. . .hmm, 2015. It's _supposed_ to be good for you."

"Did you try it?" Dayton asked, his voice suddenly petulant as he passed the med cup towards Ryan.

"I'm not going to try it," Ryan replied, guiding Dayton's hand firmly back the other way. "You try it."

Dayton shook his head. "_I'm_ not going to try it."

"Let's get Baltar!" Ryan abruptly exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Dayton averred, then broke into peals of laughter.

"He won't like it. He hates everything!" Ryan continued, collapsing in hysterics.

Cassie sighed, looking at the two hopeless cases, obviously lost in another curious 'Earth moment'. She glanced at Starbuck and Apollo as Ryan rolled onto the floor, tears running down his face from his uncontrollable laughter.

Ryan sputtered, "He likes it!"

Dayton started laughing anew, dropping sideways onto his bio-bed, spilling the extract as he added, "Hey Baltar!"

Cassie frowned. With Baltar in a separate Isolation Room, it didn't make much sense. At least to her. She set her sites on Starbuck, pouring out another dose.

Starbuck immediately backed away from the med tech to hide behind the captain. He held up his hands defensively. "_I'm_ not going to try it . . ."

"Well," choked Dayton. "That's Life!"

"Kinda _cer-_eal, isn't it?" Ryan guffawed.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three

"Drink it," said Cassiopeia.

"But it smells like . . ."

"I said _drink it_, Baltar!" repeated the med tech. "Or I might have to administer it by . . ." she frowned, quirking her eyebrows, " . . .enema."

"Why do _I_ have to go first?" Baltar groused as he looked at the other infected men around him, brought in to intimidate him, no doubt.

"Because _you're_ the Betrayer of the Twelve Worlds, and we're the good guys. I would have thought it was obvious," Ryan smirked. He took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, there are more of us than you,"

Dayton joined him, nodding as he deliberately flanked the traitor. "Do as the lady says, buster. Get it over with."

"_Baltar_!" the traitor snapped as he gazed at the foul liquid. He was unable to hide the look of horror that came over him, but reluctantly accepted the med cup from the blonde med tech. Across the room Apollo and Starbuck were watching, no doubt hoping for some lethal or otherwise hideous reaction. With a scowl that could have corroded a centurion's plating, Baltar raised the cup to his lips and drank. Cassie couldn't help but smile, as Baltar began to make tormented noises. "_Mmmm __. .__.__ eerrrr __. . .__ aaaawwww__. _What in the Lords' names do you brew it from?" he shouted, tossing the empty cup away. "Dead toads?"

"Actually, frog's legs can be pretty tasty, done right," said Dayton. He grinned at the traitor's discomfiture. "Of course, you know, the rest of the frog . . ."

"Oh, shut up!" howled Baltar, still gagging. He looked at Starbuck, who was outright laughing, evidently oblivious to the fact that he would soon be undergoing the same treatment. Then, Baltar felt something . . . move.

"Oh, gross," said Dayton calmly, as another of the parasitic worms emerged from Baltar's nose. This one flopped to the floor, wriggled, and fell still. It was followed by another, then Baltar yelped, bouncing almost off the bed, as another of the horrid pests apparently sought to exit his body . . . elsewhere. With a choked gurgle, he tore into the turbo flush, infirmary gown flapping in his wake.

Cassie leaned down, and grabbed the worm with some tongs, and plopped it in a dish. She scanned it. "I guess it works," she said, glancing at her chrono. "It's already dead."

"Finally, Koivee's good for something," said Ryan.

"Next!" called Cassie.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton stood, awaiting his 'fellow Councillors', staring out the huge port that filled one side of the chamber, looking at Planet 'P'. Until repairs to the _Pegasus, _as well as the _Galactica,_ were completed_,_ and the disposition of the _new__ Endeavour _decided, they were remaining in orbit here. Even as they waited, teams had moved on to mining the planet's single moon for both tylium and vital metals to replenish depleted stocks.

All of Planet 'P' would soon be a mess, he decided, as the site of the comet's impact came into daylight. They were maintaining a geosynchronous orbit over the region, in order to collect as much data about the after effects of the comet's strike as possible. In the day since the collision, the shatter zones spreading out from the impact point had expanded outward while spewing lava and ash, and the number of seismic events was unbelievable. Magma was gushing up from the interior, yet most of it seemed to be confined to parts of the crater's northeastern rim. The sea, along with several diverted rivers, now filled the huge impact basin, and the water had to be hot enough to boil anything that could possibly still be alive.

The atmosphere would take a long time—perhaps decades—to recover. Ash and smoke exceeding ten trillion cubic yards of crud had already been vomited into the atmosphere, and the effects were already becoming apparent. Over a quarter of the northern hemisphere looked as if it was shrouded in dirty gauze, and the normal wind patterns were spreading it further. Forest and prairie fires only added to the mess, and scans showed that already the average global temperature had declined by a full degree. Storms raged and unseasonable weather patterns ripped across continental landmasses, although the southern continent and the surrounding tropical seas remained warm and sunny for now. Science teams were surveying there, even now, while they still could. Porter was among them.

Dayton turned as the door to the chamber opened and Sire Montrose entered. He nodded to the elderly statesman, then a moment or two later, Siress Tinia. Barely had he turned back to his musings over the savaged planet, when the doors opened again and someone called his name. Baker waved, peeking his head into the chamber conspicuously, and Dayton beckoned him over.

"So they really let you in? I thought maybe it was all a practical joke," Baker ribbed him before he took in the view below, broken only by two Vipers speeding by headed out on patrol. "Studying hell?"

"Nope. We blew up Torg's asteroid, remember?"

"Oh, right." He looked Mark up and down, letting out a low whistle. "Nice suit. Looks weird here, though."

"Well, I'd look like a total doofus in one of those Colonial togas," said Dayton. He was wearing a standard men's suit that looked as if it had come from _Kupperman_ or _Brook's Brothers_.

Baker chuckled, "Well, at least then you could go commando . . . Commander."

"I believe that's the _Scots_, Bob . . ." Dayton replied, smiling all the same.

"Are you sure? Just what kind of underwear did the Romans wear?"

Dayton paused to regard him a moment. "I'm at my first Council meeting as the Earth Liaison Officer and about to be presented as a potential commanding officer of the new _Endeavour_, and _you_ want to talk about underwear?"

Baker fell silent for a moment before adding, "The tailor shop on the _Rising Star _does a good job." He grinned. "But . . . why not your Air Force uniform? The one you had made when we first arrived."

"No sense torquing some of these fellas off any more than we need to." Then he grinned, "Besides, I figure they'll be so distracted by my unusual appearance that they'll miss half of what comes out of my mouth."

"Aha!" Baker grinned, looking at the planet again. "What a mess. It's hard to believe that all that beauty—so much like home—is being totally destroyed."

"Yeah. The environment down there is gonna be in the dumpster for a long time. Scans show even her rotation was affected. Slowed down by almost one full second."

"Wow. Well, at least our Ray Milland look alike was found guilty of blackmailing Dr. Cordis. Though that hasn't stopped Uri ranting on the IFB." Despite being 'neutralized' through the efforts of Ama and Chameleon, Uri was still doing his best to discredit Dayton and his men, and also Commander Adama by association.

Dayton frowned, "His old former Council crony, Sire Geller, is talking settlement again. Can you believe he actually wants us to stick around here until the smoke clears? The idiot doesn't seem to grasp the extent of the damage on the planet. Besides, even after all that crud settles out of the air, it turns out that an asteroid is going to pay a visit in about a year or so. Not that big, but . . ." He shrugged.

"Cosmic shooting gallery."

"Basically."

"Weird, Mark."

"What?"

"This planet, practically a knockoff of Earth, didn't have so much as a scratch from any sort of impact before we showed up. That Cylon commander, Malus, reported that there wasn't a single impact of any size the whole time they were on the planet."

"That probably had something to do with the Dynamo network, Bob," Dayton pointed out. "It was protecting the planet."

"Possibly. But now . . ."

"It's suddenly a sitting duck, asteroids and comets barrelling towards it like balls on a pinball table. Madness and mayhem foreshadowing the apocalypse. Yeah, I kind of wondered about that, too," Dayton frowned.

The two old friends looked at each other.

"Man, that Ship of Lights bunch don't miss a trick, do they?" Dayton sighed. "You notice how those developmental surges of the planet have stopped?"

"Meaning maybe they don't need it, anymore? We came, we saw, we conquered, we sent Dickins and Hummer back to Earth to prepare them for the Cylons . . ." Baker ventured. "These suckers play with planets and lives like the kids back home played with marbles." He turned, as the doors opened once again, and more members of the Council entered. "So, how do you think it's gonna go, huh?"

"You mean resurrecting the Base Ship?" replied Dayton. "Don't know for sure, but Commander Adama's got a trick or two up his sleeve. That much I'm sure of. He didn't get this far in his career, let alone keep the survivors together, without a certain low cunning." He scanned the Council members surreptitiously and Baker grunted in agreement, as they stood by the huge window, showing the wounded planet spinning slowly below. "Now, Sire Montrose, he seems like a sensible guy. He and Adama butt heads a lot, so I hear, but he's no idiot. He's a man who appears to see reason. Anton as well."

Baker nodded, following his gaze.

"And Tinia tends to support Adama, both politically and otherwise," Dayton continued, considering the gathering Councillors. One, whose name he recalled as being Domra, looked up at them from his seat, and scowled. Dayton waved and grinned. "That Domra guy is gonna be a major pain in the ass though, from everything I hear."

"Uh huh. As my old football coach used to say when my folks were in earshot, 'his head is in a dark place'. I guess he tends to oppose Adama for the sheer agony of it." Baker's eyes followed the stewards who filled each members' cup with whatever they wanted, while sheaves of hard copy were placed at each station. The steward approached, and Dayton took a goblet of water. Baker shook his head.

Mark laughed softly. "Obviously, Ama will support us, and Captain Kurus is retired military and a highly decorated officer, so that's looking promising, but there are unknowns as well." He glanced towards Kurus as the retired captain limped into the chamber, leaning heavily on a cane. "Mael, who replaced Sire Geller as the Libran representative, so far hasn't followed anybody's lead. He seems to be an independent thinker, and a bit more down to Earth than his predecessor. Note his lack of title. Apparently, that's a first in Colonial history, a commoner on Council. The Piscon representative, Farra, is pretty much the same." The black woman wore a simple dress in contrast to Tinia's robes. "She doesn't seem to have an agenda so far, at least as far as anyone I've asked knows . . ." He stopped, as first Ama, then Adama, and then the remaining Council members filed in, taking their places around the huge table. Ama smiled at him and he left the viewport to find his own seat.

"Knock 'em dead, Mark," whispered Baker, as he passed the seated Dayton to head for the spectator area.

"_Te morituri salutant!__"_ grinned Dayton.

"_Aste Spumante_!" retorted the baffled Baker, not to be outdone, while Adama called the meeting to order.

xxxxxxxxxx

Peculiarly, Jolly felt as though he was about to stand before a firing squad. He _knew_ he shouldn't feel intimidated about talking to Starbuck regarding Lia, but his friend had developed a very protective nature regarding the Empyrean woman and her family that surpassed the usual concern of a friend. Then again, Starbuck had been through a lot with Lia and Luana, even saving Lia's life on the planet Empyrean when they had first met. And now, of course, Lia was Starbuck's sister-in-law.

The warrior looked tired as he lay on his bio-bed, alternating between squeezing some kind of therapeutic ball in his right hand, and muttering derogatory comments at the _IFB_ announcers on screen above him. He glanced over at the med tech station only to have Cassiopeia shake a finger at him sternly.

"I told you, if I catch you on that telecom again, I'll restrain you to the stretcher," she warned him. "Barbed wire at the very least."

He grinned innocently, "C'mon Cass, you told me it was good to be up and about."

She raised her eyebrows. "That doesn't include making abusive calls to Zed and Zara, Starbuck."

"They asked for the public's opinion. Last time I checked, that was me." Her steady and penetrating stare silently calling 'felgercarb' penetrated his façade, much as it always had. "Hey, I'm not going to just lie here and let those two scandalmonging snitrads spread all those ridiculous rumours! Now they're trying to say that Dayton is a frackin' pirate, and Commander Adama is a liar. I took an oath . . ."

"Atta boy!" Cain barked from his own biobed. "The next time you get through, you can tell them a thing or two from me, Lieutenant!"

"Yes, sir!" Starbuck grinned, starting to raise his right hand towards his forehead in a salute, but grimaced as the medical bandage hampered his movement.

"She starts her next round in twelve point six centons, by the way," Cain added with a twisted smile.

"I know, Commander," Starbuck returned, sharing a laugh with the Juggernaut before turning to glance at the wall chrono, this time noticing Jolly. "I'm not contagious or expelling worms, Jolly. And I turbo washed so I even smell nice. Come on over. I thought you were assigned planetside?"

"Just got back. Dorado took over. How are you feeling, Bucko?" Jolly asked, shuffling over. He winced slightly, "Lia told me the news about Luana. I'm really sorry."

"Lia told you?" Starbuck repeated, blinking a couple times as though he was doing some kind of mental calculation. "Thanks, Jolly. We haven't given up hope, and time is definitely on our side."

"So is an Empyrean necromancer," Jolly reminded him with a smile.

Starbuck grimaced, shaking his head. "Don't remind me. I can just imagine that there's some kind of fertility ceremony that I'm going to be dragged into within the next couple sectars."

"I don't even want to think about that . . ." Jolly murmured, having heard about the _Fires of Truth_ that Starbuck had crossed at one time, and how Ama had 'dropped him'.

"_You_ don't want to think about it . . ." Starbuck retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Look, I was just on my way to escort Baltar over to the _Abaddon_ . . ."

"Are they really going to use that Brain Probe on him?" Starbuck asked.

"They _really_ are. From what I hear, it's his only chance to prove he was a Cylon prisoner, not that many people really believe it." Then he noticed how Starbuck's face remained carefully impassive, as though he was in a card game, not a conversation with a friend. "What? You don't actually believe him, do you?"

Starbuck dropped his eyes, considering it a moment. Finally, he met Jolly's gaze. "I can't say for certain, Jolly, but he saved my life . . . _twice_. The Baltar that we left on that rock, the Baltar that murdered billions . . . _he_ wouldn't have done that."

"I can't believe you just said that," Jolly replied. "C'mon, Starbuck. You're not that gullible."

"Must be the drugs," Starbuck sniffed, thinking of another man that he knew that could swing between sword-wielding killer and an overprotective, teasing friend. "I don't know. Can a man change that drastically?"

"Does it matter when an entire nation wants him dead . . . or at least incarcerated," Jolly rejoined.

"The answer to that, my friend, is better left to philosophers and the Tribunal, not lowly lieutenants." Starbuck closed his eyes briefly, taking a long moment before opening them again.

"I should go. You look tired."

"Didn't you want to talk to me about Lia first?" Starbuck asked in an offhanded tone.

Jolly startled. "How did you know that?"

"If Lia is talking to you about Lu . . . well, you two must be a lot closer than I thought," Starbuck concluded, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I feel kind of silly, but I thought I should ask you first . . ." Jolly's eyes searched Starbuck's, ready to retreat at the first hint of anger. Getting over those rails on the biobed would slow the warrior down, giving Jolly a three-micron head start . . .

"Jolly, you're like a kinsman to me." Starbuck shrugged. "When I first started on the _Galactica_ . . . well, I don't need to remind you. Lords, if you want my blessing, then you have it."

"Thanks, Bucko. That means a lot." Jolly leaned forward, meaning to clutch his friend's arm in a warrior's grip, but pausing as he considered the bio-sleeve covering Starbuck from wrist to shoulder. He sniffed at the awkward moment, then grinned and pulled the younger man into a hug that Ursus would applaud.

"No problem, buddy. By the way, can you spot me twenty cubits until payday?"

Jolly groaned, releasing the other, "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if being your kinsman is a good thing."

"How could it not be?" Starbuck chuckled. "By the way, could you get Malus aside and give him a message for me before Baltar starts that Brain Probe?"

Jolly frowned, "I'm not sure I like the sound of that, Starbuck . . ."

Starbuck put on a million-cubit grin. "Oh buddy, you're gonna _love_ this . . ."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Adama, might I ask about this addition to the agenda regarding Baltar?" Mael spoke up. Outfitted in a plain brown Colonial tunic, pants and boots, the commoner looked like a thorn amongst the rosas. "I see that Councilwomen Ama and Tinia have supported your supplication, leading me to believe they know more about it than the rest of us, but just why in the Twelve Worlds would we be discussing _Baltar_?"

Anton chuckled. "That's what I like about you, Mael, you don't mince words." The elder statesman turned to their president. "I admit that I too am intrigued, Adama. Do tell."

Adama glanced at his chrono before replying. "Baltar was found on Planet 'P'. Alive." He paused as gasps of surprise and exclamations of disbelief filled the room. Ama, Tinia and Dayton sat quietly. It was a rare occurrence for the commander to feel so supported in chamber. "I've made a full report available to you all, but I'll take a few centons to give you the highlights now."

"Is he still alive?" Captain Kurus asked, as though somebody should have taken care of that by now. From his tone of voice, it was plain that he'd like to be doing the caring. However, forty yahrens in the military and a medical discharge resulting in injuries sustained during the Destruction could have that effect on a man.

"Yes. At this moment he is undergoing interrogation, Captain. In fact, we are using a Cylon Brain Probe, which we have retrieved from the old Cylon Base Ship."

"A what?" asked Domra, who plainly had neither heard of the device, nor read Adama's report.

"A brain probe, Sire. It is a device that allows the Cylons to scan the minds of living beings, and determine truth or falsity." He gestured at Cree, and introduced him. Cree stood up, and described his own experience with the machine. The expressions from some of those assembled told Adama it was having the desired effect.

"To what end, Adama?" Farra asked.

"To establish whether the story Baltar tells is true. That he was found on the planet we exiled him on, and since then has been a prisoner of the Cylons."

"Rubbish!" Domra exploded. "After everything that has happened, we can't believe a single thing that man says!"

"It's not very likely, I must say . . ." Anton agreed.

"I felt the same way, but much to my own surprise the evidence actually supports his claim. The Brain Probe should give us a clearer picture, one way or the other," Adama informed then. "Right now, we're awaiting those results."

"Is a . . . Cylon Brain Probe considered admissible evidence in your judicial system?" Dayton asked.

"Ironically, it's never come up before now," Anton returned. "And since it requires a Cylon to read it . . ." He glanced at Adama in question.

The commander sighed. "A Cylon of the IL class remained with the _Abaddon_ Base Ship and has been assisting us. Just as he aided Captain Dorado during battle with the _Hades_-class Base Star, he will be analysing the results of the scan. He seems to be reliable . . . for a Cylon. Obviously, we're keeping a close eye on him."

"A _Cylon_ will be testifying in Baltar's Tribunal?" Domra asked incredulously. "That simply goes against my grain. It shouldn't be permitted!"

"I agree!" Captain Kurus slammed a fist on the table. "It makes a mockery of Colonial jurisprudence."

"What is the universe coming to . . .?" Anton muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Well, at least he'll end up back on the Prison Barge where he belongs," Farra said confidently.

"Ah, but what if the Brain Probe reveals that Baltar is telling the truth?" Ama posed, her voice steady. "That he was indeed a prisoner of the Cylons. He was granted amnesty for his crimes before being exiled. The slate is clean. Unless he has committed a new crime, technically Baltar could be a free man."

"Surely you're not serious!" Montrose babbled.

"He's the most despised man in Colonial history! We can't just set him free to mingle with the population!" Mael inserted.

"We would have to declare the evidence as inadmissible." Domra declared. "Using Cylon technology that is translated by a Cylon! That wouldn't have even been a consideration in the High Court on Aquaria."

"Baltar wouldn't survive five centons among the population before somebody would deliver the justice that he truly deserves for his sins against humanity," Captain Kurus declared.

"The outcome will be decided in Tribunal," Adama stated. "Not here."

"He may have escaped our justice once before, but not this time," Farra insisted. Several other members nodded in agreement, a few casting a glance in Adama's direction. "Right?" she said, looking at Dayton.

"_The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept__. . ."_muttered Dayton, shaking his head at the sudden venom in the bureautician's voice. "Well, I hope the truth comes out of course, especially since the very survival of the Fleet could hang upon what is learned. But we must never fall to using such methods as this Brain Probe as a regular thing. And evidence shouldn't be inadmissible simply because it could potentially prove a man's innocence. Maybe I'm idealistic, but that's the way we do it where I come from." He paused a moment. "We risk becoming as bad as the Cylons if we forget our humanity here. As an Earth poet once put it,_ O, it is excellent to have a giant's strength, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.__"_

For a moment, no one said a word, but several looked reflective. Adama stood, getting their attention. "Well said, Commander Dayton. For now all we can do is await the outcome of the scan. In the meantime, I'm sure you've all read Captain Dorado's report and recommendations on salvaging the _Abaddon_ Base Ship and bringing her into the Fleet. I'd like to formerly welcome Commander Dayton not only as our Earth Liaison Officer, but also as a citizen of the Colonial nation, his citizenship being approved this very morning."

"Congratulations, Commander Dayton," Ama beamed. "I am honoured that you took such steps to formerly join our great nation."

"Well done, Commander," Anton smiled, then glanced at Adama. "Two commanders at one table. _And_ a captain. I'm beginning to feel a little _squeezed_."

"A little squeeze will do you good, Anton," Ama grinned, giving him the benefit of her gapped-tooth smile.

"Now, now, Ama," the statesman returned with a winsome smile, "behave yourself. You're in chambers."

"Now you don't really think that I'm going to leave that one alone, do you?" Ama laughed.

Dayton stood abruptly, nodding at Adama as he took his seat. "I can see that now would be as good a time as any to explain the advantages, indeed, the _necessity _of bringing this Base Ship into our Fleet . . ."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Colonel, Captain Dorado is reporting fluctuating magnetic signals from the surface," Omega alerted him. "He's asking for a correlating radion scan to check for increased thermal activity at their location."

Tigh took the steps of the Command Level two at a time. "What do you have?"

Omega nodded as he checked the data on his screen. "Concentrated scan reads a variation in ground temperature of nine degrees over our last recorded reading . . . one centar ago."

"Is Dorado standing by?"

"Yes, sir," Omega made the connection. "Go ahead, Colonel."

"Dorado, Colonel Tigh here. Our scans read a nine-degree increase since the last reading, indicating imminent seismic activity. Get your team out of there, Captain."

"Aye, Colonel. Dorado out."

xxxxxxxxxx

_This is Baltar we're talking about, Jolly . . . _

Starbuck's words rang reassuringly through his brain, but it still wasn't sitting right with him. To even_ think_ about using a Cylon Brain Probe to mess with a Human's mind was just _wrong_. Even, he had to admit, _this _Human.

But was it as wrong as Baltar potentially going free after causing billions of deaths throughout the Colonies? Was it as wrong as a man who deserved to be wandering several depths of Hades Hole for all of eternity while looking for his head and flaming entrails, instead getting amnesty in the here and now?

There were shades of right and wrong, at least the way Starbuck had explained it. And at the time, it had made a lot of sense. Especially when Jolly's burning hatred of the traitor had coloured his viewpoint, obliterating the usual high ethical standards that he knew Starbuck also shared . . . had they been talking about anyone else. Sagan, Starbuck half-ways believed that Baltar had actually changed his ways, and _he_ still wanted some kind of revenge for what the Betrayer of Mankind had done to all of them.

Now, as Jolly awaited Malus' response to Starbuck's request, there was one potential way out of this. The lieutenant was almost hoping that it was simply impossible. That the IL couldn't actually carry out their clandestine plan.

"You said that _Starbuck_ asked for this?" Malus posed. He actually cocked his head a tiny bit to one side, in a perhaps unconscious imitation of Humans. "This is indeed interesting."

"Who else would think of something like this . . .?" Jolly murmured in return, breaking off as he realized he was talking to Malus as though he was an old and trusted friend of Starbuck, instead of a . . . gallmonging Cylon that had switched sides. "Yes, Starbuck."

"How is he? Have they repaired him?" Malus asked.

"Repaired?" Jolly repeated, giving his head a shake. "I suppose. He's supposed to be released at the end of the secton, but won't be cleared for active duty for some time."

"How long is 'some' time, in Colonial equivalents?"

"That's medical-ese for 'undetermined'," Jolly returned, then snorted. "Why? Do you miss him?"

"I believe I do," Malus replied. "I grew rather attached to Starbuck in the short time that I spent with him." He paused a moment. "It might be a malfunction in my programming, but I'm rather . . . well, _enjoying_ it."

"Sounds like love to me," Jolly teased him . . . then found himself wondering why he was _teasing_ a Cylon. Teasing, and actually finding himself enjoying it on some level. Malus seemed to bring that reaction out in him for reasons he could not fathom. This machine had some eerily Human characteristics, no question.

"Love. That's a Human emotion, is it not?"

"Yes, it essentially means you're exceedingly fond of someone, and want to spend most of your time with them. Usually the rest of your life."

"How does it . . ._ feel_?"

Jolly sighed, letting out a long breath. It was something to be speaking from personal experience for the first time in his life. "It feels wonderful . . . but we're getting off topic here. Can you _do_ it?" He glanced through the hatchway to where Giles and Greenbean were guarding Baltar while his Protector hovered nervously in the background. Wilker, as usual, was poking his nose into things, while trying to appear as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

"I believe so," Malus replied. "If Starbuck wishes it."

"Well, you do sort of _owe_ him . . ." Jolly returned.

"Excuse me?"

"He just found out that the chemical you exposed them to on the planet resulted in his wife's infertility." Jolly couldn't help the hostility that crept into his voice.

"I was unaware of that," Malus admitted. "But don't you have a surplus of Human young on one of your ships? Couldn't he just pick one of them?"

Jolly snorted in disgust. "You have no idea what you took away from him, do you?"

"I sense I have done him a grave injustice . . ." said Malus slowly, as his processors tried to make sense of all this new information.

"That's putting it mildly . . ."

"If this will in any way help to atone for my actions, unintended as they were, then I will be pleased to carry out Starbuck's request."

"So it will look like a side affect of the probe?" Jolly asked.

"Yes."

"And you will erase all memory of it from your databanks after doing it?"

"I will. Nobody other than you or Starbuck will know."

Jolly bit his lip, still not believing they were doing this, and wishing he could erase all knowledge of it as easily as Malus. "Then go ahead."

xxxxxxxxxx

"My forefathers used to say that it took a community to raise a child. But, during this unwilling trek across the stars, it is our sense of community that we have sacrificed as we crowd onto ships never intended for prolonged journeys, comparing our meagre living arrangements to those of our neighbours and finding them lacking." Siress Tinia rose to her feet at the Council table. She was quiet a moment longer, casting her eyes around the table at her fellow Council members. "All this time after the Destruction, when we should be pulling together and counting our blessings—banding together as a community and being glad of our survival—instead we are retreating into our private lives, tallying up our misfortunes, and listening to the ravings of has-been bureauticians preaching envy, conspiracy, and even hate, dividing us further, instead of looking for solutions. It is time to move forward, my brothers and sisters. Time to weather the storms of life _together_, and reap the reward of community."

"Here, here!" Anton applauded her. "A lovely speech, Tinia."

"However meaningless," added Sire Domra, with a cynical edge.

"Let the lady speak," Dayton inserted.

"Yes, go on, Siress Tinia. I, for one, am intrigued _and_ inspired," Ama encouraged her, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Thank you." She nodded at them. "If it takes a community to raise a child, then why do we isolate so many of ours on a ship for orphans? How can we expect children to integrate into our society, to understand the concept of contributing to, relying on, and valuing a community, to socialize into our culture in a healthy and beneficial way, when we purposely exclude them from it for the formative yahrens of their lives?" Tinia posed, and the previously excitable group settled down.

Theatrically, Tinia let the question linger in the silence a long moment, before continuing. "How many children were left behind in the Colonies? How many innocent lives were taken by the Cylons throughout the Twelve Worlds on that terrible day? Yet instead of holding those innocents on the Orphan Ship close to our bosoms—those precious few that we managed to save from annihilation—we have made them outcasts under the pretence that we are using science to search for what might possibly remain of their natural families? Or might not. As I understand it, relatively few matches have been made, less than ten in the last half-yahren, and it is long, tedious work to form a database from which _to_ work."

"I begin to see the direction this is taking . . ." Sire Montrose inserted, nodding. Unlike Domra, he was more inclined to listen, even to views he might not entirely share.

Siress Tinia smiled. "Commander Adama, as I understand it, is in need of a ship to transfer the majority of the population of the _Aptian_ Freighter to, so we can scrap her and use her hull and other structures for badly overdue repairs on both civilian and military ships. I propose the integration of our orphans back into our populace through carefully selected social placements."

"Are you proposing rehashing our attempts to have people adopt these waifs?" Anton asked. "If I recall, every effort was put into that shortly after the Fleet was underway, resulting in the necessity of us centralizing the orphan population on one ship."

"Exactly, Anton," Tinia nodded. "Yet it was more for convenience of processing and caring for the children, rather than having their best interests at heart in the long run. We hadn't considered then that we may very well be on this journey for yahrens. Even a generation. Incessant Cylon attacks were too constant a danger, and we were largely reacting, rather than planning insightfully."

"People were so shell-shocked following the Destruction, that taking care of even one more child seemed overwhelming. They could barely care for themselves," Montrose posed. He spoke from experience. His only son, a Viper pilot named Martin, had been lost in action several yahrens before the Holocaust, leaving behind a toddler, and a widow dying from an incurable illness. Out of both love and duty, he had fought through his grief, and taken the boy in, to raise him as his own despite his advancing yahrens. It had been a herculean task for the old widowed sire, who had had the advantages of wealth and position, and he knew well that under current conditions, it could only be harder.

"What about foster homes? Where people take in a child and are monetarily supplemented for caring for them?" Dayton asked. "I know it's not a perfect arrangement, but fostering has been in one fashion or another a part of our social systems for centuries."

"Also a tradition in our social system, Commander Dayton. But one requiring rigid screening and careful monitoring," Adama nodded. "It might be a beginning for introducing our young people into ship-specific instructional periods and recreational programs where they have an opportunity to integrate with children of their own age."

"Further to this," Tinia continued, "I would propose a cooperative child care system be started to aid parents with not only the care of their children while they are working—freeing up more of the Fleet for the workforce—but to once again bring a sense of _community_ to our ships. Parents helping parents. Children playing with children, and not staring at filthy, rusting bulkheads all day long. People truly getting to know their neighbours through helping each other, and building something together," Tinia added. "Otherwise, we face the possibility of a rising generation of people who have no roots, and no hope. A recipe for total disaster, my fellow Councillors."

"I know my own son would find that a blessing," Adama nodded eagerly. "But what could a single parent working extended centars himself offer to a cooperative effort?"

"Initially, helping to renovate a Community Centre on each ship where such activities could take place. These ideas are but seeds that need nurturing in the form of participation and passion for them to grow, or to bear fruit. And participation is not measured in man-centars, but in exuberance and commitment."

"An interesting idea, Siress Tinia, but I hate to point out that the _Aptian_ Freighter is one of the largest passenger vessels in the Fleet."

"We have scant choice, Sire Domra," said Adama. "The _Aptian_, as Commander Dayton has already said, is one of our oldest ships, and was slated for scrapping due to a serious fire before we fled the Colonies. Her engines are constantly threatening to break down irreparably, many of her hull seals are at best problematic, and her life-support systems have failed three times in the last two sectars. It is taking increasing manpower just to keep her running, and diverting resources and personnel from other areas. Even without a cost-effectiveness analysis, it is plain that by scrapping her and recycling every bit of her that we can, we can more effectively maintain our other ships, with less effort. She simply can't go on, Sire."

"I understand, but what of her passengers and crew, Adama? It would take at least another vessel of the Orphan Ship's size to disperse the populace to, assuming you find homes for our orphans, which is no small task," Domra raised.

"Which is why I propose doing the same for the Senior Ship. Reintegrating them into our populace." She held up a data pad, inputting some data. She slid it into the port at her own station, and dumped the data to theirs. "If you will refer to your monitors, you will see that an informal survey of the Senior Ship has already revealed that sixty-five percent of able bodied seniors would consider relocating to other ships—most of them mentioning being closer to existing family—if it would benefit the Fleet. Now many of these seniors are either former military personnel, or are retired from a variety of technical and scientific fields. We would be fools not to tap that source of talent and reintegrate those that are capable into the workforce. We've had several even volunteer to take up residence on the new _Covert Operations Ship_ that Commander Dayton has already briefed us on . . . " She nodded at Dayton. "Providing of course, that there are functional turbo flushes close to their quarters with decent lighting, for those nocturnal calls of nature."

Laughter tittered through the chamber.

xxxxxxxxxx

The ground shook and Porter could feel the tremors rising up through his legs, enveloping him and everything around him as the earth pitched. He struggled to keep his feet as he scurried once again towards the shuttle, along with the rest of the landing team, trying not to drop his pack.

"Leave it! Leave it all!" Dorado was shouting at them, as various botanists and scientists tried to retrieve scattered equipment, unwilling to abandon the instruments of their trade. Part of his mind couldn't blame them, really. Such scientific rarities and discoveries . . .

They had had about five centons notice that this seismic event was going to occur, but it hadn't been enough to get them all safely back to the transport on time, despite Dorado barking like a drill sergeant to urge them on. Porter's heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would burst through his chest, as he struggled to keep upright.

"C'mon! C'mon! Shake your astrums, people!" he heard Dorado shout.

Off to his right he heard a scream for help. Instinctively, he darted a look that way, and just as suddenly he felt himself falling, the ground beneath him crumbling as he clawed at dirt, rock, a root, and then nothingness to stop his descent. He jerked to a stop as an excruciating pain abruptly shot through his shoulder, and down his arm, and he gasped with the onslaught of agony. Then his arm was free and he was falling again. Against the odds, a chasm had opened up, diverting the small river into it that they had landed by. The dirt and dust choked him, and he coughed while he desperately fought against the earth and mud, that was trying to swallow him whole. The noise was deafening as the planet roared in fury, as though some ancient or mythical earthquake God—or maybe that celestial Being that Dayton called John—was bringing this calamity upon them. He screamed out in pain and outrage that having survived Torg and his pirates that he would end his life like this, plunging to his death on Planet 'P', never knowing whether or not Dickins had made it through to Earth . . .

Abruptly he stopped his downward slide, clinging to the jagged rocks that were still slowly disintegrating beneath his fingertips. Gasping for a breath, he tried to see through the filthy air, still thick with dirt and dust, but it stung his eyes, causing them to tear up.

"Can anybody hear me?" he screamed out, choking and coughing once again. His right foot slipped, and he scrambled to find another invisible foothold on a crumbling foundation that he couldn't make out. Fortunately, his foot hit something solid . . . at least for now.

"_Porter_?" Dorado hollered from several metrons above him.

"Yeah!" Porter returned, his cheek pressed against the porous rock as sweat covered his body.

"Hang on!" Dorado called back.

"Really? No kidding! Thanks!" he hollered, as the earth shook again. "Is that helpful little tidbit in the manual?"

"Yeah! As a matter of fact, it is! Just under 'don't fall into chasms'!" Dorado shouted back, then added, "I'm coming down!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Baltar blinked as strong arms supported him, pulling him out of the Cylon Brain Probe machine. His head felt thick and muddled, and the base of his skull pounded fiercely, making him feel as though he'd overindulged on cheap grog. He struggled to make his legs work, trying to recall where he was and what was happening. Then he spotted the dull and naked IL Cylon and it hit him, "Lucifer? How. . . ? What are you doing out of uniform? You're a disgrace!" He removed his own cloak, swiftly moving to place around the IL's shoulders, securing the clasp. Then he backed up, examining his handiwork critically. "There. That's better. Preferable to the gold or red lamé in any case. I'd get a polish and wax soon though, if I were you."

"Oh my . . ." Malus murmured, an internal pre-programmed link abruptly kicking in, giving him a little jolt. He knew he should run a self-diagnostic, but then thought better of it. It was a rather enjoyable experience, and since simple pleasures were rather limited, he decided to simply enjoy it. He watched Baltar blink several times, shaking his head. Then the traitor's eyes seemed to clear. He looked around him.

"Uh . . . how are you feeling?" a thin, white-haired man asked Baltar. "Do you remember where you are? What happened? What your name is?"

He appeared rather perplexed, but Baltar decided it was likely a permanent expression, etched into his face by yahrens of confusion. "Of course I remember," snapped Baltar. "You just probed my mind to find the truth about my incarceration at the hand of the enemy! Well? What did you find out?" He looked about, and then brushed a stray thread from the arm of his tunic, noting that the cuff was slightly longer on that side. He held both hands out in front of him, comparing them side-by-side. They had to be a least five millimetrons out. It was disgusting workmanship. "Where's my Protector?"

Squire Maelgwn abruptly appeared from the other side of the Cylon apparatus, as though he'd been hiding there. "Malus is still analysing your cortex scan, Count Baltar."

Baltar whirled on the IL. "How long will that take?"

"From my initial assessment, not long at all," Malus returned glibly. Or he liked to think so.

"Keep that up and I'll take back my cloak, leaving you as naked as a newborn Human," Baltar retorted.

"I prefer to go unclothed. Wearing cloaks is a Human custom adopted _since_ I left Cylon."

"Curious," Baltar replied. "You would be well advised to adopt the custom if you have any hope of fitting into the Fleet, and finding your own place."

"Are you suggesting I try to _disguise_ myself as a Human to make you feel at ease?" Malus asked.

"Clothing makes a statement. In your world, at a glance dress indicates superiority . . . importance."

"And in yours?" Malus asked, looking around the chamber at the assorted Humans.

"Ours as well, though by this lot you wouldn't know it. None of us would make the best dressed list," Baltar replied sourly. Corpulent warriors, confused scientists, barely graduated Protectors, and himself a recent prisoner and patient. They were a sorry looking group of men . . . Then he noticed Sire Solon standing aside, studying him strangely. Predictably, the man was well dressed and well groomed, appropriate to his office. It was almost a relief . . . _Why was he even thinking about this?_ He shook his head, suddenly noticing the grubby surface on the control panel. "Doesn't anybody _clean_ around here? It's repulsive!"

"I believe I have finished my analysis," Malus inserted. "Baltar was indeed a prisoner of the Cylons. It seems that while he was exiled on a planet by Commander Adama, he spent long centars re-examining his life, and finding it lacking. I believe you Humans refer to it as having an epiphany. When he was later discovered by the Cylons and taken prisoner, his isolation lead to further centars of self-analysis and regret. He hoped to somehow escape and have a second chance at life, a chance to redeem himself for his sins against Humanity. Then his opportunity came when the Cylon commander demanded his assistance when they encountered the _Harrower_. Baltar had hoped to escape when he convinced the Cylon that he could aide in locating any Humans on the planet, something he never intended on carrying through on. He even intervened to stop the destruction of Colonial shuttlecraft while en route. His intent was to destroy the centurions he was with, and to deceive the Cylons into thinking he was also dead, and then eventually join up with a settlement of Humans that he believed existed on the planet. He could then begin life anew with a group of Humans who wouldn't know of his past." The IL paused, "Of course, he was quite mistaken about the existence of a Human population."

"Oh, there were Humans, all right," Baltar muttered, remembering how he had instead found Starbuck. Distracted by a compelling billow of Solon's robe, he suddenly asked, "Who's your tailor?"

Solon glanced at Malus. "Is this behaviour a side affect of the scan?"

"I'm uncertain at this point," Malus confided. "It might only be temporary."

"What behaviour?" Baltar snapped. "I'm not behaving. I don't _have _any behaviour!"

"Sire Solon, as long as this evidence is admissible in Tribunal, then between this and Commander Adama's log entry verifying that he did indeed grant Baltar amnesty for his crimes before exiling him on that planet, I move to dismiss this case against Count Baltar," Maelgwn inserted. "There is no evidence that supports crimes against the Colonial nation _since_ he was granted amnesty."

"Not bad, boy." Baltar nodded approvingly. "But imagine how much better it would be with an attractive new set of robes. Personally, I prefer green. It would bring out your eyes."

"The questionable admission of the Cylon Brain Probe results as evidence needs to go to the Chief Magistrate for a final decision, Maelgwn," Solon informed him.

"I understand that, Sire Solon," the young Protector replied. "I have an appointment with Sire Memnon in two centars." He smiled proudly. "I expect that you will want to attend."

"Most definitely," Solon replied, looking to Jolly. "Lieutenant, please prepare the shuttle for our return to the _Galactica_."

"Yes, sir," Jolly replied, taking Baltar's arm with a smirk. "C'mon, Baltar. I'll try not to rumple your attire on the way back to the Brig."

"You know, if you lost about twenty kilons, you'd look much smarter in your uniform," Baltar told him aside. "I'm guessing you eat too many mushies between patrols."

"I'm going to kill him . . ." Jolly muttered, rolling his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

Starbuck startled awake and then sighed as he stared at the chrono on the wall for the umpteenth time in the last couple centars before closing his eyes and relaxing back into the relative discomfort of his biobed. He hadn't slept this much since . . . _ever_? The Life Station had suddenly come alive with a flurry of activity as people spoke urgently but quietly around the med tech station, preparing for something. He could feel that edge of tension in the air, but since Cassie was nowhere to be seen, he knew his chances of finding out what was happening were obscure. Confidentiality in this place was taken seriously . . . most of the time.

He shifted as sore and tired muscles protested his inactivity, even as his brain argued that rest was what his body needed. He hadn't really taken Salik that seriously when the physician told him that he would end up with some chronic pain issues, but now those little aches and twinges that were usually just a memory after this much time on analgesics and regeneration treatments were persisting. At least his shoulder was on its way from being a raw hunk of meat, to recovering, but that dang tingling and numbness down his right arm into his hand hadn't improved all that much. It was clear this was going to take longer than he thought.

Well, at least it would be a while before the new _Endeavour_ would be ready to take on her crew, so he should still be in the running for the position as her strike captain, especially with Apollo, Dorado and Dayton all putting in a good word for him. If only military positions could be won at the card table, instead of being subject to a decision making process that he couldn't manipulate . . . beyond what he had already tried. Worst of all, he was awaiting for the meeting to end to find out if this was even a viable career option for him. His future as a Colonial Warrior was riding on the outcome of this assembly, and it wasn't very reassuring that the Council of Twelve would be instrumental in that decision.

Just what did a hotshot Viper pilot do if he could not longer fly? Yeah, he pretty much needed a Plan 'Beta'. Something to fall back on just in case Adama, Ama and Dayton couldn't convince the newly elected Council that resurrecting an archaic Cylon Base Ship was in the best interests of the Fleet.

He just couldn't see himself taking a desk job, strapping himself into a chair each morning before he fired up his computer and launched himself into the daily toil of endless military bureaucracy. Duty rosters. Fitness and performance reports. Memos to higher ups about the same. Replies to those memos, and criticism on how long it had taken him to file them. Lords! At least with the new _Endeavour_ project, he had the potential to get back into a fighter. He was already running it through his mind, how they could refit those old Cylon Raiders into two-man fighters with an upgraded attack computer and improved manoeuvrability, or maybe even cannibalise some of their engines and avionics to rig into spare Viper space frames. Having the experience of flying a Raider with Apollo when they had infiltrated that Cylon Base Star so many sectars ago had penetrated his subconscious a while back, even invading his dreams. He'd never forget that weird dream about crash landing on a barren hunk of rock that he had dubbed the 'Planet Starbuck'. He and his good buddy, Cy—a Cylon he had rebuilt with a little help from a handy owner's manual that he had found in the wreck of the Raider—had designed a hybrid fighter from the remains of his crashed Viper and the Cylon fighter that had presumably shot him down. The dream had deteriorated after that, adding a mystical pregnant woman who ate most of his rations, a baby that was most certainly _not_ his, and culminating in him being deserted by all of them to eke out a dour existence until he starved to death. It was the last time he had tried any of that 'wacky tobacky' available on the Black Market.

Looking on the brighter side, it was uncanny and fortuitous that he had chosen to minor in aeronautics when he had been selected for the pilot's program at the Academy. Not only had it given him the technical ability to drive Jenny and his flight crew a little crazy when he performed his own Viper repairs and maintenance in emergency situations, often with a creative spin on it all of his own, but he could potentially be the driving force behind an entirely new line of Colonial fighters. And as long as he didn't have to hurl through a launch tube on a _Battlestar_ in a Viper, Dr. Salik had agreed that he could potentially be cleared for active duty once again . . . as a pilot. With restrictions. Using some common sense. Not overdoing it.

_Whatever._

"What are you planning now?"

He smiled, hearing the teasing lilt of Lu's voice before he opened his eyes to see her smiling down at him. She was like him in a lot of ways; Lu was tough, with a resilience that would have her bouncing back quickly from Salik's devastating news, instead looking for ways to defy what the fates had dropped on her, much as the Empyreans had done from the beginning. They were both of the mind that they could influence their own destiny, or spit in its face, and nobody was going to tell them to lie back and suck it up . . . _Buttercup_. If anything, that only made them more determined to get their own way. Together, they'd get past this. Somehow. "Just thinking."

"No wonder you look so tired," she teased him, leaning down to kiss him lightly. "I hear Council is out. We should hear soon whether or not wisdom has prevailed, _Innamorato_."

"Yeah." He hesitated before adding reluctantly, "I feel as nervous as a cadet on his first patrol, Lu."

"I understand," she nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly. "What will you do if they don't approve the Base Ship?"

"Try to come up with some way to change their minds, I guess . . ." he shrugged. "I've been lying here wracking my brain, trying to come up with a fallback position, but I don't have a lot of other options, Lu. I'd rather become a shuttle pilot over a desk jockey." He grimaced at the very thought. "Besides, it's not _just_ about me . . ."

"_I_ know that," she reassured him, knowing the _façade_, while convincing to most others, was only that. As much as Starbuck professed that the planets rotated around _him_, anybody that really knew him was well aware of the endless missions that he had 'reluctantly' been dragged into by the bootstraps, sacrificing life and limb for duty and the Colonial nation.

"It's the best way to actually do some reconnaissance without putting the Fleet at risk," he explained anyway, knowing she didn't really need to hear it. The _Endeavour _would appear to be an actual Cylon Base Ship scouting ahead, launching Cylon Raiders—manned by Colonial Warriors—to check for any established Cylon Bases between Planet 'P' and Earth. If the Cylons were going to reach Earth before them, then it was likely they had established some Bases of Operation along the way, to act as a conduit for communications between their Base Ships far afield, and Cylon.

"You're talking about the _Abaddon_ splitting off from the Fleet? Actually operating separately from the _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_?"

"Possibly. Eventually. When we're ready." He half sat up. "It's kind of like the old days, when support ships like the old _Century _could run long-range recon ahead of a task force, and send out her own Vipers, Lu. Sometimes, the extra few centons of warning made all the difference." He told her briefly about one such time, when as a new pilot he'd experienced his real baptism of fire in the Battle of Ghassulian Prime. She smiled, imagining the heroics and fighting on that long-ago day.

"Then I'd better apply for a transfer," she smiled. "No way am I gonna miss all that excitement."

Starbuck frowned. "That could be tricky . . . I'll have to feel out Dayton, but I don't think he'll support us working together now that we're married. He's a bit like Cain with the fraternization rules. He won't want his warriors distracted."

"You think I should stay on the _Galactica_?" she asked, obviously confused and surprised by this.

"No, I'm saying we need to figure out a way _around_ it," he clarified with a grin. "Rules are just . . ."

"Guidelines," she smiled. "Or as I heard Giles put it, 'like mushie crust. Made to be broken.' Right. Good luck sneaking something by Dayton."

"Nothing's impossible, Lu," he chuckled. "He has a soft spot for you. Besides, he's going to be a busy man." Glancing at the chrono once again, he then asked, "What about quarters? Did you have any luck with the Colonel?"

"All of it bad," she frowned. "There's nothing right now, but Colonel Tigh's put us on the list."

"You know, Dorado left me a message that if we wanted, he'd give up his quarters and go back into the billet. He called it our sealing gift. I'd hate to put a guy out of his quarters though. There has to be _something_ . . ." he murmured. He shouldn't have been surprised at Dorado's generosity, but he was. His old Academy friend had mentioned that he had been feeling a little lonely in his private quarters, not that Starbuck believed it for a centon. Dorado was lonely like Cylons could sing.

"An out of order turbo-lift?" Lu suggested. "Or . . . we could always look at getting quarters on a freighter. Apollo mentioned that he and his wife seriously considered it when they were getting sealed. I could check the liner _Orion, _too."

"The problem is that if there's an alert, we'd have to shuttle back . . ." Starbuck shrugged. It would be a long time before he'd be part of a Red Alert. "That equipment room is looking better and better, Lu," he returned with an encouraging smile, while trying to think of another solution. "We could fix it up, hang some padded mats for privacy, use some more for a bed . . ."

"There are locker rooms just around the corner . . ." she returned playfully, looking up anxiously as Apollo and Dayton entered the Life Station. "Here we go, Starbuck. Fasten your harness."

He looked up anxiously, gritting his teeth at Dayton's serious expression. It didn't bode well. "What happened? How did it go?"

"We're in like Flynn, kid," Dayton told him, crossing the room with a glance at the sleeping Cain. "You're looking at the latest officer to join the Colonial Fleet. It's official. The _Abaddon_ is to be refitted, and renamed _Endeavour_."

Starbuck smiled, "That's great. Congratulations, old man. I was hoping you'd stay awake long enough for Council to vote in your favour."

"Damn it, _kid_," Dayton growled, then changed tack as Starbuck turned on the full force of his grin. He squinted dramatically at him, "Don't you have a low-beam setting for that smile? The glare is terrible."

"You two . . ." Luana murmured, shaking her head in amusement. Dayton put an arm around her, giving her a squeeze.

Apollo added somewhat soberly, "The _Aptian _Freighter will be scrapped, and its population redistributed to the Orphan and Seniors Ships, along with any available berths throughout the Fleet. Accommodations will be a little tight until the _Endeavour_ is fit to take on more than a skeleton crew, but we'll get by. We'll be a lot better prepared than just after the Destruction."

Dayton nodded, "Meanwhile, the biggest recruitment drive since Sagan wore seersucker is aiming to dredge up every capable man and woman available to join the Service, freeing up more space."

"Commander Adama will announce promotions and transfers at the end of the secton, buddy," Apollo told him. "After conferring with Commander Dayton and Colonel Tigh."

"Then Colonel Tigh _was_ assigned to the _Pegasus_?" Starbuck hesitated as Apollo nodded.

"It's official. He'll be acting CO until Commander Cain recovers."

Starbuck nodded, glancing at the dozing Juggernaut. There seemed to be an underlying current to the conversation that he couldn't quite figure out. They were reporting off to him as though it was strictly business. Their expressions certainly didn't support the good news, then again, neither of them had as much riding on the outcome as Starbuck did. "What else?"

Apollo let out a deep breath, glancing at Dayton before replying, "One of our landing parties was scrambling to get off the surface when a massive quake hit, and a chasm opened up. Two men were killed, Starbuck."

"Who?" he breathed, feeling his guts twist in reaction as he waited.

"Two botanists, Tasker and Timon . . ."

Starbuck nodded woodenly, recalling Timon from his experience on the planet Empyrean. He had been a knowledgeable and likeable man, and a good friend of Tuija's. It probably seemed cold, but not knowing Timon very well or Tasker at all made it easier to bear. . . at least for him. Or maybe he was just low on Humanity right now, unable to take anymore bad news. He sighed, then glanced at Dayton, hoping to find those flint grey eyes on him, insisting he keep it together. _Buck up _. . . Instead, the sorrow buried deep in the Earthman's grey eyes was now apparent, and as far as he knew, the commander hadn't known _either_ man. The warrior's stomach lurched, knowing there was bad news yet to come. Porter had been down there, among others. "What else?"

Dayton shook his head, turning away, waiting for Apollo to continue. It was as though he didn't want Starbuck to know he wasn't immune to emotional overload, presenting that crusty front that was so typical of the man, even after all they had been through in the last couple days.

Apollo reached forward, squeezing Starbuck's shoulder. He paused for an excruciating moment, his own sadness evident, "It was Dorado, buddy. He managed to hauled Porter out of the crevasse after the quake hit. But then another tremor hit them, bigger than the last. Dorado fell. He's in rough shape."

"How rough?" Starbuck whispered.

Then med techs burst through the door with a hoverstretcher. Swathed in bloodied bandages from head to toe, and covered in mud, Starbuck would have never recognized Dorado if he hadn't been warned. Alarmingly, the downed warrior wasn't moving or uttering a sound. Salik darted across the room, shouting out orders, helping propel the stretcher through the Life Station towards a prepared surgical suite. The group of health care workers disappeared inside, leaving fear and anxiety behind them.

Then Porter stumbled into the room, Lieutenant Rooke right on his heels. The two men were filthy and bloodied, glancing about desperately as a med tech approached them, and a second one followed them in, limping from his recent mended injury and trying to keep up. Porter's left arm was crudely slung, and Rooke was limping on a crutch made from a broken branch, his right arm also crudely splinted.

"He's in surgery . . ." Tone told them, glancing beyond them at his co-worker.

"Rooke's right arm is broken. Porter dislocated his left shoulder. Both are covered in lacerations, contusions and . . ." Hinnus started to report.

"Never mind all that, when will we _know_ . . .?" Rooke asked, his fear for his wing leader and friend was obvious as he grasped at the tech's tunic with his good arm, while he cradled his fractured one against his chest.

"Not until they're done the surgery," Tone replied calmly. "He's in good hands for now, and we'll let you know as soon as _we_ know. Now sit down, and let us take care of _you_." He motioned towards the available biostretchers.

Porter nodded dumbly, looking close to collapse as Dayton rushed to his side, putting a supportive arm around him, and leading him gently but firmly towards a stretcher.

"What happened, Jimmy?" He settled him onto the stretcher.

"Bloody chasm opened up underneath me during an earthquake, Mark. I fell," Porter explained, sitting gingerly and cradling his arm. His face was black with grime and old blood, his hair filthy. "Dorado and Rooke came down after me. They were securing a line when all Hell broke loose again. Dorado fell." He shook his head, looking at Rooke in concern. "I don't know how in the Hell Rooke managed to get him out of there . . . and then me." He shuddered. "Dorado's right leg was almost severed . . . his other leg crushed . . . his left arm too . . . " He sucked in a deep breath, letting it out before he could continue. "According to the medic, he's probably going to lose those limbs _if_ he survives this. He even lost his eye, Mark . . .all to save _my_ sorry ass . . ."

Rooke blinked, then shook his head. "Dorado would have done the same for anyone, Porter. It's just the way . . ."

"But I'm not _even_ . . ." Porter began to argue.

"You were there with us on that damned pirate asteroid, Porter. We might not have survived if it hadn't been for you guys. You're practically blood as far as we're concerned," the former _Pegasus_ pilot returned vehemently, glancing at Dayton. Lieutenant Rooke had almost died after three sectars of Bex's tender care, but he knew it would have come a lot sooner if the Earthmen hadn't been there to ease his and Dorado's transition into the pirate stronghold.

The Earth commander nodded, "We feel the same, Rooke." He looked at Starbuck pointedly. If the young warrior hadn't discovered the pirate base, been captured, and spearheaded an escape, they'd _all_ still be there. They'd become a tight little club, surviving what had to be two of the cruellest taskmasters in the universe.

Starbuck choked out a breath, unable to find any words as grief and anger washed over him. Rebuilding that Cylon Base Ship had been Dorado's idea, and he had brought Starbuck on board, knowing that it was his only chance for a future as a pilot. That was the kind of guy Dorado was, always willing to help a friend, if he could. He had even supported bringing Dayton into the mix, trusting Starbuck's instincts, and also knowing from his sectars on the pirate asteroid that the Earthling would make an excellent leader.

It just wasn't fair. Dorado was about to give substance to a vision he had created—a masterpiece of military strategy and cunning—and in centons, everything had changed. In the blink of an eye, a visionary, a military genius in the rough, an old friend . . . had lost everything. From the sound of his injuries—even to a pilot—a military discharge was the most he could hope for . . . presuming he even survived.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-Four

It took just about all the courage Starbuck had to walk over to Dorado's biobed, his stomach knotting and threatening to betray him as he gazed upon the face that was still swollen to almost twice its normal size on one side after two separate reconstructive surgeries. The stump of the warrior's left arm was attached to a biosleeve, and the lack of the appropriate lumps beneath the lower half of his blanket spoke of the bilateral amputations he had received almost six days ago, one above the knee, the other below. Intravenous lines wound their way down from various bags of fluids, converging into one tube with separate lumens inserted into his upper arm. The whole one. Several large bore tubes were also draining bodily fluids, and not for the first time, Starbuck silently debated about whether the wonders of modern medical science were really all that wonderful. If he couldn't come back whole, would he want to come back at all?

"You came." Dorado licked his lips, gazing up at the warrior through his remaining eye, the other covered by a biopatch. His voice sounded like rough pieces of wood scraping against each other.

"Yeah . . ." Starbuck replied quietly, finding it difficult to look at that eye without thinking about how the other one was gone. He didn't even _look_ like Dorado anymore. It kind of put his own general aches, pains and tingling fingers into perspective.

Dorado smiled ever so slightly. "Today's the big day, huh? You're out of here."

Starbuck nodded, acutely aware he wasn't being the most brilliant of conversationalists. A secton later, he'd recovered from his spenectomy, his shoulder was more or less in one piece, his parasitic infestation was but a memory, and his fractures had faded to mere bruises.

"Did you and Luana find some decent quarters?" Dorado gazed at Starbuck for a long moment, when the warrior didn't answer, obviously not wanting to bring up the inevitable medical discharge. "Hey, take mine. You know it's not like I'm going to be using them."

Starbuck sighed, shaking his head slightly, finding it hard to hold the other's gaze. He couldn't help but think of Dorado as the stout cadet he had known at the Academy, then the half-starved refugee he had discovered on the pirate asteroid, and finally the Colonial Warrior come into his own, commanding a Cylon Base Ship with the assistance of Malus and a skeleton crew, and distracting the more powerful _Hades_-class Base Star until the _Galactica_ and _Pegasus _were in position to strike. "I don't know what to say . . . "

"Say 'yes'," Dorado replied.

"That's not what I meant . . ." Starbuck broke off, feeling totally inadequate.

"I know that, Bucko," Dorado replied, reaching out with his hand and patting Starbuck's arm reassuringly. "Thanks for coming over. I know it's not easy. It never was for me either."

"I wish I could _do_ something . . ." Starbuck ventured. Feeling helpless was the worst part. Feeling like he was about to break down and lose it was running a close second.

"If you ever find yourself in a card game with Diabolis, try and win me back my life. Will ya?" He pasted the half-smile on his face again, but the words were dripping in bitterness.

"I hear he cheats," Starbuck replied monotone, images of Count Iblis flashing across his memory.

"So do_ you_, Starbuck," Dorado rejoined.

"It's an ugly rumour."

"Speaking of ugly, how's your . . ." Dorado's voice choked off the valiant attempt at banter, and he drew in a ragged breath. His eye became teary, and he ran his hand over his face, pausing to palpate the patch that covered the vacant eye socket. His hand shook as he stared at it in front of his face. Then he glanced at Starbuck, his voice thick with raw emotion when he said, "I don't know . . . if I can _do_ this, Bucko . . ."

"If anyone can, _you_ can, buddy." He said it by rote, but abruptly, he realized he meant every word. "You've always been able to achieve whatever you set out to do. And if you can survive Torg and Bex, then you can survive this too."

"And then what?" Dorado hissed, motioning down at his mutilated body. "What in Hades do I do then? I don't want to _just_ survive, Starbuck! I need _more_ than that!"

"It's one Hades of a start, buddy. Just ask a hundred thousand refugees," Starbuck reminded him.

"I liked it better when you were tongue-tied . . ." He shook his head, closing his eye.

"Well, you should know by now that never lasts long."

"Yes, how well I remember."

A long moment passed between them, the silence growing uncomfortable as Dorado continued to keep his eye shut, even looking away.

"I'm still here . . ." Starbuck told him.

"So you are," Dorado replied, opening his eye and sighing. "Why is that, exactly?"

"I was thinking that you could be an instructor at the new Academy sub unit we'll be starting up on the _Endeavour_."

"A one-eyed, one-armed, legless instructor!" Dorado scoffed.

"I wasn't thinking of the hand-to-hand combat program."

Dorado startled, then gawked at him. "You _bastard_ . . ."

"Tactics, Dorado. You excelled in tactics at the Academy, and you obviously still do. You blew us all away in the 3-D tactical assessments we had to do. Hades, you even pasted the instructor, once. What was his name . . .Togo? Yeah, that was it. We need warriors who can think beyond the manual, and _you're_ the kind of officer that can . . ."

"They're going to _discharge_ me, Starbuck!" Dorado reminded him. "The service doesn't employ cripples."

"Hey! Stow that mong!"

"Get real, Starbuck. I'm going to get discharged as unfit for duty. Look at me! Isn't _this_ . . ." he tore the blanket off his salvaged legs, ". . . reason enough?"

"Then give them a reason _not_ to discharge you!" Starbuck grabbed the blanket, pulling it back in place. He gripped Dorado's shoulder. "We're recruiting men and women all over the Fleet, and we'd be fools not to utilize every valuable resource they have to educate them. What's in there . . ." he thumped Dorado's forehead, "is a valuable commodity! You don't need _legs_ to teach tactics!"

"Do you have the authority to offer me this?" Dorado asked. "Have they even promoted you yet?"

"It's a done deal, Dorado," Starbuck bluffed, hoping like Hades it was true. He'd pray to God, sweet talk the Goddess Fortuna, beseech the Lords, spill some blood for Triquetra, find an animal to sacrifice to any spare deities he'd forgotten, and rub his lucky cubit until the etching blurred if only he could get this promotion. "You know that, you're the one who put in a good word for me with Commander Adama. And Dayton will support this." He backed up and sighed as Dorado seemed to consider it. "At least give it some thought."

Dorado nodded soberly. "Fair enough. I'll think about it." He rolled his eyes. "Not a lot else to do, lying here."

"That's the spirit!" Starbuck smiled, glanced at his chrono. He lightly slapped his friend's shoulder. "I have to go, buddy. I'm supposed to report to Commander Adama's office." He turned to go.

"Starbuck . . ."

"Can I get you anything?" he quickly inserted, unable to deal with any sentimentality just now.

"You already did," Dorado nodded at him slowly. "You're gonna make a great strike captain, Bucko. I'm proud of you."

"Proud of _me_?" He shook his head in bemusement.

"You've come a long way since the Academy . . ."

"Haven't we all?" Starbuck shrugged, backing away, lifting his hand to his brow in a casual salute.

"Don't be a stranger . . ."

"I won't," Starbuck assured him.

"Liar."

"Am not."

"Are too . . ."

xxxxxxxxxx

_  
Technology created, used and comprehended only by Cylons is considered inadmissible evidence in a Colonial Court._

Those words, spoken by Sire Memnon, and passed on to Baltar through his infantile Protector, had sealed Baltar's fate. He smiled derisively that he had actually allowed himself to believe that he had a fair chance. Instead of his case being dismissed as Maelgwn had predicted, it had gone to Tribunal.

_He collaborated with the enemy. He was found commanding a Cylon Raider task force over Planet 'P'. He was rescued from his planet of exile by the Cylons where he picked up where he had left off, once again feeding them valuable information on Human nature to assist them in their hunt for us._

None of the rest had mattered to the Tribunal. How he had rescued Starbuck, the evidence of his imprisonment, the fact that Lucifer had presented himself as the Base Star's commander, Baltar's emotional display and admission of regret, or his search for redemption. Oh, how Adama had to be laughing now. He would have known all along that Baltar would end up right back where he started, on the Prison Barge.

_For treason against the state in collaborating with the Cylon Empire, we sentence you, Baltar, to life imprisonment aboard the Prison Barge._

Baltar snorted. It had had a familiar ring to it. He'd heard it all before, or words similar enough. Yet it hadn't turned out that way the last time. The witch had been wrong about his redemption when she had mystically spoken to him on the planet. The fates had freed him once before. Perhaps they would do it again. He simply wasn't meant to eke out his existence wearing coarse prison issued garb, his own clothes infested and destroyed. The garments made his skin itch and besides that, from the poor cut they were obviously mass-produced on some poverty wage assembly line. Oh, and the colour made him look sallow. It would better suit the viewport, morosely bereft of curtains.

"Are you done admiring yourself in the mirror, Baltar?"

Baltar whirled around. "You!" The witch stood on the other side of the door, her white hair wildly framing her face. She wore a long blue robe that complimented her dark grey eyes, but the material looked too light to be comfortable while travelling between ships. Somehow, he expected her to be carrying a staff with a flame flickering from the top. "I suppose you're going to walk right through the cell door to try to impress me," he mocked her, while trying to curtail his inclination to critique her choice of shoes. So far his fashion tips had won him no friends.

"Such parlour tricks are beneath me, Baltar," she replied with a faint smile.

"Ah! Then you can't do it," Baltar scoffed, strangely pleased at that.

"Has another impressed you so, Baltar? Well, I suppose I mustn't be outdone," Ama sighed, pausing to place a hand on the door, then close her eyes briefly. The door seemed to shimmer, and she stepped forward passing through it as easily as air. That done, it appeared to solidify once more. "Satisfied?"

Baltar gasped, suddenly weary. "How did you do that?"

"Matter is merely energy, Baltar. Surely you remember your basic physics from your primary school? Matter is but frozen energy, and as with all energy, it can be transfigured." She smiled her gapped-tooth grin, looking contemplative for a moment. "If you know how."

Baltar took a step back. "What do you want with me, Witch?"

"I'm here to speak of your path to redemption, Baltar." The half-humorous, half-contemplative look was gone. She looked as serious as a Magistrate about to impose sentence.

"Redemption?" Baltar spat, waving a hand at the small cell he occupied on the Prison Barge. "This is my reward for my attempt at redemption."

"So you regret saving Starbuck's life, now that you have not been celebrated for it?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

"I . . . I don't regret it . . . _exactly_ . . ." he returned haltingly. It had been strangely rewarding to save another's life . . . even Starbuck's. Then again, that was before the fumarello and parasite episode. "He wasn't very grateful. Perhaps it is Starbuck you should be visiting like a ghost in the night."

"It's morning, Baltar." She gave but the tiniest hint of a smile. "Back where you once lived on your homeworld of Piscon, the sun is just coming up over the river."

He scowled. "So it is."

"I believe you thought that your one chance at redemption was on that planet. That it would alter the course of your life from that point on," she mused.

"What _else_ was I to believe?"

"That while your path to redemption may have begun on the planet, that your reward will not come until the hereafter. But only if you continue your quest."

He narrowed his eyes, considering her for a long moment. "You're trying to manipulate me. To keep me out of trouble."

"I'm trying to save your mortal soul, Baltar."

"Who are you? Really?"

"I am a messenger, Baltar. I bring you the promise of forgiveness, if you act accordingly now."

"Do you really expect me to believe . . . that an Empyrean witch who sits on the Council of the Twelve . . . is also a messenger from . . .from _God_?"

"No, I don't. But I still had to tell you, if only to give you the chance to make up your own mind," she replied a little indifferently. "Darkness falls and when it does it can smother the purest and sweetest light, but it will never obliterate it completely. However, your soul is black and your heart is undecided. I can but advise, inform, entreat. Only _you_ can choose, Baltar. Choose well."

He paused, waiting for an eruption of light, or her sudden disappearance. Neither of which seemed forthcoming. It was anticlimactic.

Then she smiled her horrific smile. "Baltar, you're _so_ predictable." She strode forward, grasping him by the head, and tilting her own forward until their foreheads met. It was like an electric charge shooting through his brain, yet he was defenceless to do anything about it. His body hummed and his extremities tingled as wave after wave bombarded him, turning him head over heals as he was thrust through the maelstrom, collapsing into a quivering heap on the floor. Ama's harsh laughter echoed in his ears. "An amusing prank, but serving no useful purpose. Let the curse be lifted, dearest Triquetra! "

When he opened his eyes, she was gone. And the lack of curtains on his porthole didn't seem quite so tragic anymore.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I can't register you." The tone was bored and matter-of-fact.

"Excuse me?" Luana replied.

"There are one hundred and forty established and organized Colonial religions, sects, offshoots, denominational expressions and related ceremonies that we have listed. For example, Kobollian, as well as over sixty denominations that were based on Kobollian; then there are the Otori; Aerian polytheism; Leonis Vodun; Medinian Musmanianism of Borellian extraction, the Manginian Apostolate . . . well, you get the idea. Everything from popular to sectarian." The clerk gazed blankly at his screen, once again scrolling down the list. "There is no option for Empyrean Necromancy or . . . Earth ceremonies."

"Then _make_ one," she inserted firmly, resting her hands on the counter, leaning forward.

The young man frowned, shaking his head. "I don't know how."

"Then find out."

"I don't think it's an option. These are the ceremonies that are recognized by the Colonial state." He shrugged. "As far as the law goes, you'renotsealed."

"We're not sealed," she echoed in disbelief, visions of that enormous Empyrean Wedding that Ama had been planning, and she had managed to avoid, penetrated her brain painfully. "We're _NOT SEALED??__"_

"That's right," he replied quietly. Then shrugged again with that "it's not my job or my concern" attitude.

"That's complete felgercarb!" Luana exploded, slamming a hand down on the clerk's countertop. She hesitated as he took a step back, wondering if he was going to duck under the counter and stay there until she left. "My people might have only joined the Fleet last yahren, but the Sagittarian Empyreans have been getting sealed by necromancers for millennia!"

"The Empyreans have been historically known for keeping to their own, isolating their people. Perhaps none of them have bothered to register?" the clerk suggested.

Luana let out a breath of frustration, realizing he was probably right. The Empyreans simply wouldn't care if nobody else recognized their traditions. Personally, she didn't care either. But _Starbuck_ would . . .

"Hey, how's it coming along?"

On cue and only a few centons late, he walked in the office behind her. She turned and smiled, simply glad to see him back on his feet again, even in civvies. She stepped forward into his embrace, kissing him lightly before glancing again at the clerk.

"Not so well. According to the registry clerk, neither Ama or Dayton's ceremony is recognized by the Colonial state."

He raised his eyebrows in bemusement. "Come again?"

"He says we're not married."

A series of emotions flickered across Starbuck's features, not the least being complete disbelief. He choked out a sound before setting his jaw and snapping, "Oh, he _does_, does he?" It was as though a flip switched, and Starbuck strode towards the counter, his frame tight with aggressive intent. The clerk immediately retreated into the tiny space behind him, as though the bulk of the countertop could protect him from the warrior's ire.

"Starbuck!" Luana gripped his arm, pulling him to a stop when it seemed he was going to vault over the barrier, and probably wreck his shoulder all over again. "Don't shoot him. You've already gone to Tribunal once for termination." She smiled fleetingly as the clerk gasped in horror. "I'm sure he can tell us how we can go about rectifying the matter." Starbuck in this mood could be very _motivating_. She'd seen it more than once as a cadet.

"Frackin' bureaucratic red tape . . ." Starbuck muttered murderously. "Why can't anything be easy? You're trying to tell me that because necromancy isn't in your database for you to conveniently check off on the registration, that . . .that our marriage isn't _recognized_?"

"I'm sure we can figure it out, Lieutenant Starbuck," the clerk told him urgently, wracking his brain to do just that. It hadn't ever come up before. Like most of his class had learned, it was just _inconceivable _that something would not come up. Afer all, that was _why _they made databases, so that things _would _come up when needed. "Just give me a few centons to find the appropriate procedure and then access the files and find the forms to apply . . ."

"A _few_ centons?" Starbuck asked irritably. "Sounds like you'll need a map and a survival pack!"

"Easy, Starbuck," Luana murmured soothingly, secretly amused that the clerk now seemed to be putting forth some effort to assist them. "He's doing his best."

"I don't _believe_ this!" the warrior griped, shaking his head and glancing at his chrono. "I don't have time for this, Lu. I have to be in the commander's office in ten centons. And this guy hasn't even started looking yet . . ." He looked at the clerk pointedly, which seemed to launch the young man into hyperdrive as he started pounding on his keyboard, sneaking surreptitious peeks at the pilot to make sure he was still on the correct side of the counter.

"How about this?" Luana asked the clerk. "We'll come back tomorrow, and you can have everything ready for us to sign."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, the day after today," Starbuck clarified, looking unimpressed, while drumming his fingers on the counter.

"Yes, Lieutenant," the clerk replied tremulously. "That would be fine."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Sheba, you have that look."

"Look?"

"Don't play innocent with me, girl! You have the look you used to get when you were about to ask me for something that your mother already told you you _couldn't_ have." Cain told her wryly as his daughter rocked from foot to foot at the side of his biobed.

"_Father_ . . ." she muttered a little irritably, her back going up as he accused her of juvenile behaviour without even waiting to see what she wanted . . . especially since he was essentially correct. As usual.

"If you know that I'm going to refuse you, why are you even asking?" Cain asked, shaking his head in amusement as though she was a small child trying to manipulate her parent, instead of his strike captain

"You had some input into the promotions and transfers . . ."

"Adama and I discussed it, Sheba, but he has the final say in the matter."

"Even for the _Pegasus_?" she asked a little sharply.

"You already have the promotion to strike captain, Sheba, it's not negotiable. I made that clear to Adama," Cain told her.

"What about executive officer?"

"Colonel Tigh will be given that assignment," Cain informed her. "As long as I'm on medical leave, we need an experienced officer commanding the _Pegasus_."

"Yes, but does it have to be Colonel Tigh?"

"Do you have a problem with Tigh?" Cain asked. "I thought you liked him?"

"I do like him, and have great respect for him too," she sighed. "It's just that there are still some hard feelings amongst the _Pegasus_ crew from the time that Adama relieved you of command . . ."

"Tigh is well aware of it, Sheba. He knew it going in."

"It will be hard on morale."

"Then it will be your job to work together with the colonel to overcome that. You two will be working closely together as it is, so this will just be part of the drill, Sheba. Personally, I believe that with repairs finally happening, and this old fool removed from command, morale should be on an upswing," Cain smiled slightly, the slack half of his face not following suit. "Now, are you going to continue beating about the battlestar, or are you going to really tell me what's on your mind."

She smiled at his insight. "Apollo."

"Not on my battlestar, Sheba. I won't have my senior officers fraternizing. I thought I had made that clear more than once."

"How are we supposed to . . ."

"The old-fashioned way."

"Excuse me?" she asked, hoping he wasn't referring to her staying home like a good little wife and raising her family. Cain could just be so . . . _Cain, _at times.

"Fraternization has gone on in the ranks since women were accepted into the military," he commented frankly. "You know that, Sheba."

"Then why are you so against it?"

"Because it's a detriment to good order and discipline resulting from the erosion of respect for authority inherent in an unduly familiar senior-subordinate relationship." He looked at her pointedly, knowing of her previous personal and professional issues with Apollo while on the _Galactica_.

"What page of the manual are you quoting?" she asked coolly.

"It was a policy that was put in place for a reason, Sheba. I've seen it lose battles, affect morale, and destroy people and families. I've seen good men make bad decisions because personal issues distracted them. I've seen children orphaned in the blink of an eye because both parents died fighting side by side."

"It's not like the old days, father. Warriors don't have a wife holding down the home front in the Colonies anymore. The situation has changed, and we have to change with it."

"A warrior's first responsibility is to the Colonial nation. _That_ hasn't changed, and the further up the ranks you climb, the less of a personal life you have. Surely you realize how little time your mother and I actually spent together during our marriage? Especially when I was promoted to a colonel, and later to a commander. A furlon or two a yahren, subject to the exigencies of war. You know I couldn't even be there for her when she died . . ."

"_Wouldn't_ be there for her," Sheba returned, surprised by the vehemence in her tone. At the look on her father's face, she immediately regretted it.

"I was over twenty parsecs away on a mission, Sheba, maintaining communications silence," Cain explained, not for the first time. "I didn't even know . . . It had been eight sectars since my last furlon. She had been fine then . . . at least I _thought_ she was . . ."

She turned, trying to get control of her emotions. She had thought she had forgiven him yahrens ago for this, or perhaps she had just let it go, as she had a thousand other disappointments when her _father_ had declined family opportunities in favour of the _commander's_ duties.

"I think you're very idealistic if you believe that you can be a high-ranking officer with all the related responsibilities as well as pursue some great romantic future with Apollo," Cain shrugged, suddenly looking yahrens older than he was. "But if you think you can make it work, I'll certainly support you as your father . . . but not as your commanding officer. Tigh has the position, Sheba. Apollo will likely remain under his father's command on the _Galactica_."

"Then I guess there's nothing left to say," she replied stubbornly. "Apollo and I _are_ going to make it work, Father."

"I hope you do," he nodded wearily. "As God is my witness, baby, I wish you the personal happiness and fulfilment that I . . .that your mother didn't have." He smiled slightly. "At least until she found it through you. Her daughter." He sighed, shaking his head slightly. Old demons that had seemingly long ago been vanquished were back to nip at his conscience.

"Was mother _that_ unhappy?" she asked after a moment. She had certainly never seemed so to the daughter . . . other than that memory of a certain furlon when she had been about ten yahrens old where her parents had seemed to spend more time fighting than enjoying each other's company. Bethany had actually accused Cain of upsetting their normal routine and expecting the Twelve Worlds to suddenly rotate around him . . . as usual.

"There were times . . ." he closed his eyes, once again telling himself that he couldn't be the Juggernaut and a good husband too . . . but the theory that had once justified every unethical behaviour and dalliance had lost some of its credibility over the yahrens, especially once his wife had died.

"I . . . I don't think I want to know . . ." Sheba admitted quietly, her eyes downcast. There was that old saying about sleeping daggits, and maybe she should just leave them be.

"Just as well . . ." he replied sadly, clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders. "Now how about an update on the _Pegasus_, Captain?"

She nodded curtly, switching roles with the practiced ease of one who had served under her father for yahrens. Yet there was an underlying current as she wondered how much she really knew about her own mother's life . . . and it suddenly occurred to her that he may very well have shared his story about Bethany specifically to drive home his point on fraternization. Ever the tactician. "Yes, Commander," she began, her voice giving no hint of her inner turmoil. "Beta compartment on the port side is now fully repaired and repressurised. Food storage units three and four are expected back on-line by 0450 tomorrow. Alpha Bay reports . . ."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Enter!"

Starbuck took a deep breath, drawing himself erect as the door slid open before him. His back and shoulder cramped in protest and a jolt of nerve pain shot down to his hand, but he ignored it. This was it. A brilliant career ahead of him as the strike captain of the new _Endeavour_ . . . He held on to that thought, not even wanting to think of a possible alternative. What was it that Dayton had once said to him? _Go big or go home._

Not surprisingly, Commander Adama was sitting at his desk, but Dayton and Apollo were also present. Starbuck's heart sped up a beat, knowing this boded well. At least he hoped so. He could sure use some good news after the last few days . He nodded at them briefly before he came to attention in front of Adama's desk, saluting smartly.

"Lieutenant Starbuck, reporting as ordered, sir."

Adama smiled slightly, probably at the unexpected formality that wasn't exactly commonplace with this warrior. He stood up, nodding at the young man who was like another son to him, then returned the salute. "At ease, Lieutenant. How are you feeling, Starbuck? How's the shoulder?" He immediately set the tone for an informal meeting.

"As good as new, Commander," Starbuck replied, seeing a shadow of disbelief cross the older man's features. Apparently, he'd seen the medical report. "At least that's my story, and I'll be sticking to it, sir." He pasted on his best 'Starbuck caught in a creative fabrication of the truth' smile, and his CO responded accordingly with a knowing look of tolerance.

"I understand you have a few sectars of physical therapy still ahead of you, son," Adama returned, taking his seat and motioning for Starbuck to take the remaining empty chair in front of the desk. He reached into a drawer, pulling out a package and sliding it across the desk.

"Yes, Commander," Starbuck nodded, as he sat down. "That's what Dr. Salik tells me." He glanced at the small package. It was wrapped garishly in more than one colour of paper and covered in ribbons and bows. His name was scrawled on a tag in a child's handwriting. He raised his eyebrows in question, looking up at the commander.

Adama smiled in amusement. "Open it."

"Did you wrap it yourself, sir?" Starbuck couldn't help but ask, hearing Apollo chuckle from where he sat beside him.

"Boxey," Apollo explained.

Starbuck picked up the package, struggling briefly with the metron of tape holding it all together. Perhaps it was some kind of test of manual dexterity. Or a practical joke. Or a . . . "Aww . . . a regulation manual. You _shouldn't_ have!" He shook his head in bemusement as the three men seated around him laughed.

"We figured that since you obviously lost your original copy yahrens ago, that it was time we gave you a new one!" Apollo told him with a wide grin.

"After all, you're going to need it if you're going to be my strike captain, Starbuck," Dayton added with a smile, obviously in on the joke.

Starbuck beamed at the news, following Adama to his feet when the commander stood. The honourable officer walked around his desk, holding in his hand a shiny new set of captain's collar pins.

"Normally, I'd pin these on you, Starbuck. But as you're on medical leave still and wearing civilian clothes . . . " Instead, the commander took Starbuck's left hand, dropping the pins in it, and closing the young man's fist around them. He grasped Starbuck's forearm in a warrior's grip. "Congratulations, Captain."

"Thank you, sir," Starbuck nodded, feeling strangely overwhelmed, no matter how much he had been expecting this. He glanced at Apollo, smiling wryly. "Did you ever think you'd see the day . . .?"

"I knew it would come, _and_ that it would be interesting," Apollo returned with a laugh, rising to slap a hand on Starbuck's shoulder and grip his arm as well. "Of course whether I'd live to see it was another matter."

It was then that Starbuck noticed the colonel's pins on his friend's uniform, and it surprised him for a moment considering a talk that the two had had in the Life Station not that long ago. "Well, well, what do we have here?" He tweaked a pin. "Looks good on you, _Colonel_. Congratulations."

Apollo smiled as Starbuck squeezed his forearm once again. "Thanks, buddy."

"_Galactica_?" Starbuck asked.

"No," Apollo smiled mysteriously.

Starbuck frowned, trying to imagine the alternative. He couldn't help the note of disbelief that crept into his voice as he imagined Apollo once again working in the same line of command with Sheba. "_Pegasus_?" he gaped. He could already hear the fireworks . . . see the debris . . . feel the tension . . . smell the carnage . . . Of course, he _could_ be overreacting.

Apollo shook his head, glancing at his father for a moment before replying, "_Endeavour_." Then he smiled ruefully at his best friend's resulting grin, throwing Starbuck's long ago words back at him. "I guess I just can't stand you going anywhere without me."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Do not lose faith, my child," Ama soothed Luana, holding the young woman against her tenderly, feeling her sorrow and loss as acutely as if they were her own. Typically, Luana held her disappointment inside, burying it beneath a spirit that could overcome almost everything, as long as those who loved her offered her a gentle understanding and acceptance.

Even so, _this _was hard.

"I told you, Ama, we'll get the legalities and all that felgercarb of our marriage sorted out, and it's not as though we were planning a family any time soon."

"I know that, dearest. And there are other options available, after all."

Luana pulled back from her godmother slowly, assessing her wearily before she then glanced at her conspicuously quiet sister. "_Other _options? What are you getting at?" Lu was pretty sure the necromancer wasn't speaking of the obvious scientific solutions that they hadn't even considered yet. In-vitro, hormone therapy, genetic construct, all of which sounded slightly _unnatural_ to her.

"The Goddess can grant you what science _claims_ it has taken away," Ama replied matter-of-factly. "The scrolls are filled with precedents, my child."

"_Ama_ . . ." Luana warned her in a low voice, stepping away.

"A sacrifice of sacred _mana_ to the Goddess would likely . . ."

"Starbuck won't . . ."

"Starbuck would do _anything_ for you. The sweet thing is that you haven't realized it yet," Ama returned with a smile. Then sighed, "By the way, the Empyrean healer, Rhiamon, wants to see him about that shoulder. She's sure she can help."

Luana sniffed, "Starbuck won't . . ."

Ama laughed, "You keep saying that, girl." She gently wiggled a finger at the younger woman. "Try to think a little more positively!"

Lia shook her head, joining in the debate. "Ama, if you remember, Rhiamon treated Starbuck's abdominal pain on Empyrean by _bleeding_ him. It left him with a lasting impression." She shared an amused glance with her younger sister. "He would just as soon . . ."

"Cross the Fires of Truth?"Ama inserted meaningly, since the pilot had done just that for his lady love sectars ago in front of the Empyrean Quorum to prove his devotion to the Empyrean Princess. "Rhiamon recommends an ancient neural stimulation treatment that releases endorphins, as well as causes a localized inflammatory reaction, spontaneously encouraging the body to heal itself. It's been used for thousands of yahrens!"

"Doesn't that involve sticking needles through the skin, into the nerve meridians?" Lia asked.

"Something like that," Ama replied. She then enthused, "You see, Luana, even your sister knows of it! You should listen to her."

"Well . . ." Lia shrugged, reluctant to appear to be on her godmother's side. Lords, if Jolly was listening, the lieutenant would run for his life, rather than begin a relationship with the goddaughter of an Empyrean necromancer, and an abdicated princess.

"Rhiamon _did_ save his leg after that crawlon bite," Ama reminded them both of that tragic and tense period after they had first joined the Fleet. "Dr. Paye was ready to amputate."

"What exactly would we have to do for this . . . fertility ceremony?" Luana asked, frowning as the old crone leaned in closely, whispering in her ear. Her features shifted from suspicious, to dubious, to horrified as the necromancer outlined her plan. "_Ama_!"

"There, there, dearest. You can assure him it won't hurt!"

"But . . ."

"_Too_ much."

xxxxxxxxxx

Adama glanced at the official report of transfer, handing it over to Colonel Tigh, who nodded approvingly. Baltar was back on the Prison Barge. The commander had made every effort to give the traitor a fair Tribunal, even going as far as to suggest a Brain Probe be completed. However, Sire Memnon had ruled that evidence inadmissible, and the Tribunal had once again found Baltar guilty of colluding with the enemy . . . even though so much circumstantial evidence suggested otherwise.

As much as he hated to consider it, Colonial Justice had failed Baltar, and probably because of the resentment surrounding Baltar's release so many sectars before. Adama had taken it upon himself to negotiate the traitor's freedom in exchange for information. Both the bureautician and civilian populations had criticized his lone decision, however, complete victory over the Cylon Base Star had assuaged the damage to his reputation.

Baltar's reappearance in the Fleet gave the upper echelon the chance to undo Adama's transgression of not consulting them the first time around. They had used the opportunity to put the long ago trusted member of the Quorum of Twelve back where he belonged. They had also sent a clear message to Adama—who was passed over for this Tribunal—that as far as they were concerned, a president who acted without input from the Council on such a monumental matter, was seen to be acting as a dictator.

"A lot of changes, old friend," Adama mused sitting at his desk, while waiting for his new executive officer to report to his office. "Who would ever have thought it, hmm?"

"Yes, Adama," Tigh replied with a smile. "But they're _positive_ changes. The Fleet will be stronger for them."

"It will," Adama nodded, once again feeling torn at his decision to transfer Apollo to the _Endeavour_, as Commander Dayton had decided to call the old _Abaddon_ Base Ship. However, with Captain Dorado facing a likely medical discharge, his options had been limited. Almost surprisingly, Apollo had been excited at the prospect, and it had made Adama realize that the young man needed to spread his wings a bit, getting out from under the close scrutiny and tutelage of his father. Perhaps six yahrens of working closely together had been more of a limitation for Apollo than either of them had ever considered, though the commander liked to believe that Apollo had held nothing back and wouldn't have done anything differently had he been under the command of another. He frowned as recent _IFB_ accusations of nepotism once again rang hollowly in his ear. He hadn't made his decision because of those insinuations, but many would consider it when the news was official. That more than anything grated on him.

"It was a good decision, Adama," Tigh told him, as if reading his mind. "While Commander Dayton is a good man, there's going to be a huge learning curve with his appointment. The technology gap alone is an enormous hurdle, although I understand he's soaking things up like a desert. Apollo's experience and character will be a critical part of that particular line of command."

"It's not a typical assignment for any of them, Tigh. They face far more challenges than you or I ever did, in the sense that they aren't joining an already established warship with set rules, requirements and expectations. Largely, they'll be the architects of an entirely new breed of battleship, that could potentially operate quite differently than anything we've ever seen before."

"I would go as far as to say that it's a certainty with Commander Dayton and Starbuck as senior officers," Tigh chuckled.

Adama smiled, "And I admit that I find it difficult to get that image out of my mind of Dayton and Starbuck slugging it out in the War Room a few sectars ago. They're too much alike, those two. I'm optimistic that Apollo will offset their rather . . . _impulsive_, shall we say, natures."

"Or at least stop them from beating each other senseless," Tigh inserted, unable to help himself. "Seriously, the three of them seemed rather pleased when they passed me in the corridor on their way to check out their new base ship."

"And what of you, my friend?"

"I am looking forward to my new position, Adama." He nodded. "Change is good."

"Oh? I hope your position as my executive officer wasn't too dull?" Adama razzed him.

Tigh smiled in return. "Commander, I've been honoured to serve beside you for all these yahrens, but there's a certain level of comfort that goes with a longterm position. I admit that I'm anxious to step out of that comfort zone and challenge myself."

"The honour has been mine, Colonel," Adama smiled in return, rising and leaning forward to meet Tigh halfway across the desk, grasping his forearm firmly for a long moment. Abruptly, his entry chime beeped, breaking the rare moment. "Enter!"

On the other side of the door was a man who had sectars ago on Arcta proven himself worthy of once again wearing the insignia of a Colonial colonel. Since then, as commanding officer of the _Celestra_, he had more than ably replaced Commander Kronus and had taken charge of the _Celestra_, restoring a morally depleted crew and civilian component after Charka's draconian leadership had taken their toll. Croft deserved this promotion, this chance to not only redeem his honour, but to challenge himself personally and professionally.

Adama rose from his chair, stepping forward, instinctively putting a hand out in greeting. He paused, pulling back his hand when he beheld the sight before him.

"Grandfather?" Boxey asked, holding a familiar furry droid limb in each hand as he reluctantly stepped over the threshold. His young features displayed a combination of assumed innocence with a touch of defiance. "Do you know how I can find Dr. Wilker?"

xxxxxxxxxx

"A little elbow grease and a couple licks of paint, and this baby will be good as new!" Dayton attempted to be positive as he looked around the new _Endeavour_ for the very first time. While the landing bay had recently been made functional, and was therefore relatively cleaned up, deactivated centurions littered the Core as they passed through on their way to the Control Centre.

"Attention!" Starbuck snapped at the three inert Cylons. "Commander in the Core!" He managed to look nonplussed when the centurions failed to rise to the occasion. "Dissension in the ranks, Commander . . ." he reported, glancing at Dayton.

Dayton grimaced, raising a threatening backhand to him in jest, then barked, "Your men lack discipline, Captain! What are you going to do about it?" His eyes glinted with amusement, but otherwise he appeared deadly serious.

"Disassemble them to repair the hole in the bulkhead, sir," Starbuck pointed yonder before stepping over them and continuing down the corridor. "Or make porto-flushes out of them. That'll teach 'em!"

Dayton chuckled, saying aside to Apollo. "He was a fair officer . . . though a tad extreme about discipline."

"Yeah, they've been saying that about Starbuck for yahrens," Apollo smiled wryly as he glanced over his data pad, returning to business. "I see that between Malus and Dr. Wilker, they've already gone a long way to get most of the systems up and running."

"Tell me something. Are Colonial and Cylon power systems compatible?" Dayton asked, ducking to dodge some dangling wires. "Basic electrical values, phase, and so forth. After all, if we're eventually going to be incorporating both technologies . . . "

"Good point," Apollo replied with a nod. "The answer is 'no'." He glanced at Starbuck. "We're going to have to be creative."

"Shouldn't be a problem. We just need an interface. The engineers will come up something," Starbuck told Dayton, unconcerned.

"In the past we've used a dynamic phase converter when working on some of the ships in the Fleet that utilize non-standard or outmoded systems," said Apollo. "I'll have the main computer run a personnel check for anyone with experience in that area, Commander Dayton."

"Very good," replied the Earthman.

"Well, dynamic phases aside," added Starbuck, "personally I'm more concerned about how we are going to prevent the Cylons from reading the Human life signs aboard if the _Endeavour_ does come up against them."

"_When_ she comes up against them. We know they're ahead of us and that they'll reach Earth before us. It only follows that they've left a few bases between Earth and here," Dayton inserted. "What's on your mind, kid?"

"The two Wraiths that we picked up on the pirate asteroid emitted a signal that scrambled our scanners. If we can utilize some of that technology on the _Endeavour_, blocking any readings of Human life signs . . ."

Apollo nodded approvingly. "Good idea."

"I get the idea that you've already appropriated the Wraiths?" Dayton asked, unable to suppress a smile. Trust Starbuck to always have a plan.

"It's in the works. If we're going to be a Covert Operations Ship, then it would be handy to have a couple recon ships that aren't detectable to the usual Cylon scanning systems," Starbuck replied. "We can even test them on the current scanner arrays. Both ours and this ship's."

"Did I sign that request off, Captain?" Apollo asked dubiously. The last he'd heard, Wilker had one Wraith half-disassembled and the other sitting beside it for reference somewhere at the back of Beta Bay.

"I did it for you after leaving the Life Station, Colonel. I didn't want to trouble you," Starbuck grinned. "You being so busy, you understand."

"Yeah, that's more or less what I thought," Apollo returned ruefully. "You know, that raises another point. I think we'd all agree that the Ship of Lights Beings were behind the Dynamos . . ."

"Absolutely," Dayton nodded. "The ironic thing is that the Ship of Lights Bunch obviously created them with the terraforming of Planet 'P' in mind, yet when those few from the grid somehow fell into Human hands, they were used as a weapon to disable unsuspecting ships. Creation versus destruction."

"I don't know that I'd go as far as to classify Bex and Torg as Human," Starbuck shot back. Dayton's scowl told Starbuck that the Earthman fully agreed with him. "Though I see your point." He glanced at Apollo, "So you're wondering who created the Wraiths. Right?"

"Exactly," Apollo replied thoughtfully. "While the Rover fighters the pirates flew were old technology we've never seen anything like those Wraiths before. They're lighter than a Colonial fighter. Almost two-hundred and fifty kilons lighter, when empty. Then there was those jammers that they used . . ."

"Yet, the Wraiths were unarmed. Presumably not a fighter," Starbuck added. "I wonder if we'll ever meet up with the people that designed and built them. You gotta admit, we could learn a thing or two from them, engineering wise."

"Maybe their people are out ahead of us?" Dayton suggested. "Somewhere along the course to Earth's system?"

"Or they could be on another vector entirely," Starbuck returned. "No way to tell, really."

"Possibly," Dayton sighed. "It _is_ a big universe, or so I've heard."

"Speaking of big universes," Apollo frowned, glancing briefly at Dayton before grabbing Starbuck's arm and stopping him in his tracks. "There's something we need to talk to you about, buddy. Preferably in private."

Starbuck glanced at his chrono. "I can slot you in after dinner . . . next sixth day." He moved swiftly towards the nearby hatch as though Diabolis himself was on his tail, then stopped abruptly at the hatch looming before him . . . and what lay within.

Dayton grasped the younger man's shoulder from behind, stopping him abruptly and whirling him around. "_Now_, Captain."

Starbuck clamped his lips tightly together, looking from one to the other. Maybe the hatch _would_ have been preferable. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming.

"Starbuck, Commander Dayton's decided on following Commander Cain's lead and enforcing a strict fraternization policy," Apollo informed him. "You need to know that going in."

"_How_ strict?" Starbuck asked with a sigh, glancing towards the hatch again.

"No exceptions, Starbuck," Dayton told him. "Your wife can't be in the same line of command with you. I've read your regs, and we have a similar one back home. I supported it there, and I support it here. It makes a lot of sense, and I see no reason to allow any exceptions to it, Starbuck."

"Not a problem," Starbuck replied, glancing towards the ceiling and wondering if there was some celestial Being up there laughing his or her astrum off at how all this played out. "It never occurred to me that this could work in my favour, but Lu and I just found out that we're not actually married." He pasted on a bright smile. "The Registrar doesn't recognize Empyrean Necromancy or Earth ceremonies. How's that for a coincidence?"

"That's complete bullshit!" Dayton growled in outrage. "Bureaucratic butt-heads!"

"Are you serious?" Apollo asked, his mouth agape.

"Bowl shit?" Starbuck frowned, trying to wrap his brain around that for about a micron . . . then the image was just too disgusting to contemplate. English was a very strange language. "Yeah, I'm serious. I just had some geeky astrum-wipe tell me that I'm not legally married in the eyes of the Colonial nation. He wouldn't register us."

"Look, buddy, you know as well as I do that whether or not you and Luana are registered yet legally as man and wife, that you're still married in each other's eyes. You're in an intimate relationship. I'm speaking from experience, Starbuck, when I tell you it _doesn't_ work," Apollo continued. "And don't tell me that it's different because it's _you_."

Starbuck smiled, "A very good point. I do defy the usual laws of nature."

"Not to mention half the regulations in the manual," muttered Apollo pointedly.

"Yeah, well . . . as you pointed out, I didn't actually _have_ one for the last few yahrens of my career," Starbuck tossed back.

"Look, kid, I'm not trying to separate you and Luana," Dayton inserted. "Hell, I'm married myself. I know what a bitch it is being separated, especially when you're newlyweds. And yes, there _are_ plenty of openings on this ship for good warriors. But Luana _cannot_ be assigned to a squadron while you're the strike captain. Understand?"

"Yeah, I get it," Starbuck muttered, running a hand back through his hair. It took him full circle back to him and Luana initially being on Planet 'P', arguing over who would be leaving Blue Squadron for the very same reason. Knowing Lu, she was already thinking about it. In good order she would inform him what his final decision would be. "Anything else?"

Dayton raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I thought maybe you'd decided to turn the _Endeavour_ into a non-smoking ship . . . with a dedicated patio off the aft battery for us smokers," Starbuck returned sardonically.

"I have to admit, it's tempting," Dayton chuckled, slapping him on the back and propelling him towards the hatch to the Control Centre. "However, after thirty years, I confess I _do_ miss a good smoke now and then." He motioned the young man forward.

Starbuck mentally prepared himself as he stepped through the hatch. This was it. This moment he had been running over in his mind since Lu had told him the awful news. He caught his breath, nevertheless unprepared for the wave of anger that consumed him when he spotted Malus. The IL turned, his lights twinkling brightly when he spotted the threesome.

"Commander Adama notified us that you were coming, Commander Dayton. I'm so pleased to be able to give you the full tour and update you on all of our progress." Malus nodded at Apollo and Starbuck. "Congratulations on your promotions, gentlemen. I must say it is gratifying to see you back on your feet again, Starbuck."

Starbuck nodded briefly, innately aware that if he opened his mouth now, it could only turn out badly. He took a deep breath, grinding his teeth together, and pulling a fumarello from his sleeve. In microns it was firmly clenched in his teeth, staving off the tirade that he was trying to contain. Apollo casually passed by, pausing to pat his shoulder briefly. He knew. Apollo always did.

"And the progress has been considerable," Dr. Wilker reported. "Malus has been indispensable to this project, giving us codes and passwords to open and reinitialise numerous systems. We would have never made this much headway without him."

"Well, we still have a long way to go," Dayton replied, motioning a hand for the IL to proceed. "Life support systems, the plumbing and waste recycling, food storage and processing. Not to mention getting the rest of the launch bays up and running properly. A hell of a lot of work. Let's get started."

"If you don't mind, Commander, I would like to speak to Starbuck privately before we begin," Malus replied. "If it isn't too much trouble?"

"Uh . . . no, that's fine," Dayton returned, seeing Starbuck wince painfully at the mention of another private discussion. The _Endeavour_'s commander moved across the room towards the next access hatch.

Apollo followed more slowly, giving Starbuck a querying look as he passed by. The young strike captain nodded him onward with an indifferent shrug. Apollo sighed, then murmured quietly, "Are you sure?"

"Define 'sure'."

Apollo grimaced, glancing back at the IL. "Just don't do anything _I_ wouldn't do, buddy," the colonel replied, gripping Starbuck's shoulder. Then to Malus he added, "We'll just get started with Dr. Wilker."

In short order, Starbuck was standing alone with the Cylon, trying to reconcile that the very cyborg that he had welcomed into the Fleet had also been the one to cause Lu's infertility. He clenched and unclenched his fist, wandering over to a control panel, glancing at flickering lights that meant nothing, but finding them somehow distracting and even calming. And since his initial reaction was to pull his weapon and blast Malus into oblivion, anything calming could be considered to be a good thing.

"I'm told that I have done you and your female a grave injustice, Starbuck. I wanted to let you know that I am willing to permanently shut myself down if it would in any way atone for my actions," Malus informed him.

"_What_?" Starbuck turned in surprise, unprepared for this offer of sacrifice from the other.

"Please believe me when I tell you that I was unaware that the toxin we used on your landing party would do any irreparable damage, or even would have any effect on your reproductive systems. I understood only that it would render you Humans unconscious."

Starbuck studied him quietly for a long moment. "What I wouldn't give for a pyramid face like that, Mal . . ."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I can't tell if you're full of felgercarb, or on the level."

Malus accessed his ever-growing database of Colonial colloquialisms. Since his internal inertial sensors told him that he was perfectly in sync with the orientation of the deck beneath him, he decided that Starbuck must be employing one of his . . . intriguing metaphorical expressions. "I would think that my offer of deactivation would clarify that issue for you," the IL returned after a moment.

"Deactivation, huh? What would stop you from firing yourself up again later?" Starbuck leaned against the control panel, crossing his arms over his chest. "Or maybe somebody else doing it for you?"

"It's a legitimate part of my programming, Starbuck. I assure you. You could even remove my power cell, if it would be more acceptable to you."

"I'm afraid I couldn't accept deactivation, Mal. It's too reliant on Cylon technology for me to have any faith in it."

"Yet your entire future as a Colonial Warrior has suddenly shifted to successfully integrating Cylon technology with your own."

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"Very much so."

Starbuck pushed himself away from the control panel, circling the Il from a metron or so away. "I'd have to shoot you, Mal. That's the only way that I'd know for sure you weren't coming back."

For a long moment the IL's brain lit up, as he absorbed and processed this development. "If it would please you to shoot me, Starbuck, then do so."

"_Please_ me?" He glanced at the other, shaking his head in frustration, and exploding angrily, "This isn't about _pleasure_, it's about _avenging_ my unborn children."

"Then it wouldn't please you to destroy me?" Malus' lights sped up a fraction. "I find that rather heartening, Starbuck, I must say. I will keep that data forefront in my programming until I lose awareness."

Starbuck closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. It was like trying to shoot a daggit that did its best to bring you your slippers . . . no, _not_ slippers . . . your cold Empyrean Ale, every evening after a hard day's work. Not only was he a good daggit, but technologically speaking, Malus could speed the _Endeavour_ project up significantly, helping with programming, engineering, design, aeronautics and probably a whole lot that they hadn't even thought of yet. Then there was the fact that Mal didn't require any sleep, which was an additional advantage. He was a considerable asset to the Fleet.

Still, Lu's face as she told him she couldn't have babies came back to haunt him. He couldn't just let it go. Mal was actually offering to give his 'life', if you could call it that, in exchange for each little unborn Starbuck that would never be. Surely to God, blowing away this Cylon was justified. Ten to one there was some treacherous plot that the Cylon was quietly and patiently executing, lulling them all into a false sense of security before he tried to destroy them. He was the enemy; that was his destiny. Slowly, Starbuck pulled his weapon free of its holster, switching the setting from stun to kill as he weighed the options. Right or wrong, he had to do what he had to do.

"Any last words, Mal?" Starbuck asked quietly, his voice strangled. He tightened his grip, feeling his hand tremble ever so slightly.

"I imagine 'goodbye' would be the most appropriate, Starbuck," Malus returned. "Oh, and if possible, don't accidentally incinerate the control panel. I finally stopped it from spontaneously shutting itself down."

"Right . . ." Starbuck muttered after a moment. He swallowed the lump in his throat, carefully taking aim and tightening his finger on the trigger . . .


	45. Epilogue

Epilogue

"What did you do?" Lu breathed anxiously, watching him turn away from her. His shoulders visibly drooped as he let out a deep breath, raking his hand through his hair. "Starbuck? Answer me! What did you do?"

He shook his head slightly, pounding the flat of his fist against the bulkhead in the corridor as he paused in the telling of his showdown with Malus. Then he turned slowly, slumping up against the wall and closing his eyes wearily. Finally, he met her eyes. "I couldn't do it, Lu," he whispered. "When it came down to actually pulling the trigger, I _couldn't _do it. All my adult life, I've blasted Lords know how many Cylons into scrap. Blown up whole Base Ships. But now, face-to-face with one, I . . . I couldn't do it. I couldn't fracking do it!"

Luana let out her own breath in relief, moving forward to slip her arms around his waist. "_Innamorato_ . . ." she whispered soothingly, melting against him, waiting until he gradually returned her embrace a little awkwardly. He wasn't expecting her support in this, that much was clear. It took him a few moments to pull her close, to run his fingers through her long, silken hair. He was still working the outcome through in his mind, and obviously hadn't reconciled his decision.

His lips brushed her forehead, then he murmured, "I'm sorry . . ."

"I'm not," she replied, shaking her head as he studied her curiously.

"You're _not_?"

"You're not a man that would kill somebody in cold . . ." She paused, suddenly realizing she was about to say 'blood'. "Well, you know what I mean."

He seemed to think about that for a moment. "I guess I believed him, Lu. When he said it wasn't intentional." He let out a ragged sigh. "I actually found myself _believing_ a Cylon."

"That's good enough for me, Starbuck," she replied, tenderly brushing his hair from his eyes. Then she smiled brightly, taking his hand and tugging on it insistently. Her eyes sparkled with merriment as she picked up a survival pack that she had been toting. "Come with me."

"Where?" he asked, but she only grinned back playfully over her shoulder. Her devilry was infectious, and he chuckled as she led him down the corridor, his burden of guilt lifted from his shoulders with her understanding and acceptance. "Where are we going?"

"Here," she replied, pulling him to a stop.

Starbuck glanced at the sign outside the compartment.

_VIP Quarters._

It was on the tip of his tongue to explain that the VIP Quarters were kept aside for Statesmen and visiting dignitaries on a Battlestar, and these ones probably hadn't been used since Count Iblis had visited the Fleet, but then it hit him. He grinned, punching in his access code She giggled aloud, as the door slid open. "Hey, it's only appropriate that the first time I use my shiny new command code, it's to break us into elite quarters."

"I was hoping you might pick up on that." Lu kissed him quickly, looking up and down the corridor before ushering him inside. She dropped the pack, gasping at the simple elegance within as Starbuck hastily closed the hatch. The room was spacious by military standards with a separate sitting room, bedroom and turbo-wash. While nowhere as stylish as the _Rising Star_'s staterooms, it had a charm that would endure. "I can't believe this just sits here empty!"

Starbuck nodded. "It _does_ seem a waste." He slipped his arms around her, pulling her close, smiling at her as he fingered her hair. "So using it for our belated wedding night is pure genius. I'm only sorry that _I_ wasn't the one to think of this."

"I catch on quickly," she replied, pulling a bottle of ambrosa and two glasses out of her pack as she tried to figure out how best to approach the topic.

"You sure do . . ." Starbuck murmured appreciatively as bread, cheeses and fruit followed, Luana setting it all up on a table in front of a longseat. He sat down, pouring the ambrosa as she sliced and diced, using her Empyrean blade. Finally she sat down beside him, accepting a glass.

"We need to talk," she told him abruptly, realizing she wasn't really all that good at finessing a situation to her advantage. He nodded slowly, sitting back against the couch, waiting expectantly. He knew. "I don't want to give up flying."

His expression was almost painful. "Why tonight?" he pleaded, cradling his head briefly in his hand before running his fingers through his hair. He let out a sound which could have scared a lupus on the prowl.

"Because I need to deal with this, Starbuck. I have to know where I stand. I know about the fraternization regs. I know you'll be strike captain of the _Endeavour_, assigned to a lot of long-range recon missions." She let out a short breath. "What I want to know is how you envision us having a relationship if I can't work in your line of command? I'm a pilot, Starbuck!"

"There are other positions . . ." he began stiffly.

"Starbuck, I would _never_ ask you to give up what you love for me. You taught me how to fly a Viper, for Sagan's sake, so why are _you_ asking _me_ . . ." the pain lancing through her heart was audible in her words.

"I'm not!" he returned, shaking his head, putting down his glass. He sighed, raising a hand weakly. "I have this plan . . ." He blew out another breath, getting up and walking to the viewport. "It's still coming together . . ."

"What is it?" she asked hesitantly. Starbuck's schemes had a reputation for going awry . . . but generally only if they were for his own monetary gain, interestingly enough.

"We're going to be on reconnaissance, Lu. It'll be our job to safeguard the Fleet, along with the _Pegasus_ as our support ship. More often than not, the _Galactica_ will either be out of communications range, or we will just want to maintain communications silence for obvious reasons."

She nodded, certainly understanding they couldn't reveal the position of the Fleet at any cost.

"I've already talked to Dayton and Apollo about utilizing the Wraiths as recon ships, but I also think they'll make the perfect military courier . . . _with_ the right pilot."

Her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. He really did have a plan!

"Now, don't get your hopes up!" he cautioned her. "We're going to want the best pilot for the job, however, it's not combat experience we'll be looking for, and that's what most of _us_ excel at."

"What is it?"

He held up a hand. "The Wraiths are lighter and smaller than a Viper, which make them harder to detect, especially with their jammers operating, but I want them running dark. I talked to Malus and we figure we can darken the canopy and come up with a scanner built right into the helmet. It will be something like the Cylons use as an optical sensor, modified for use by Humans."

"They really _will_ be wraiths . . ." she mused.

"But they won't be armed, so you will never actually engage the enemy. Instead, you will become an expert at evading and losing them. And since you don't have any real combat experience . . ."

"It won't matter all that much."

He nodded. "Exactly. I figure Apollo can put together a training program . . ."

"Apollo?" Lu asked.

Starbuck nodded. "Oh yeah. That's the only way this can work, Lu. The Wraiths have to be _Apollo's _project, answering only to him or Dayton. Otherwise, you're back in my line of command and it won't work. Essentially, you'll be communicating between upper command of the _Galactica_, _Pegasus_ and _Endeavour_, so it actually makes sense."

"But I'm still going to have to beat out every other pilot for the job."

"But you have natural ability that a lot of seasoned pilot's don't have, Lu. You scored higher on the spatial relationships test than anyone by almost five full percentage points. That's damned good. It puts you ahead of any other possible choices right out of the gate. And with _yours truly_ as your private flight instructor, how can you _not_ get the position?" He smiled widely.

"And in the meantime?" she asked.

"There will be hundreds of positions that need to be filled. I know it's a sacrifice, Lu, but just find something else in the meantime until I can make the Wraith project work. I know I can do it."

He looked so determined and so earnest. "I know you can do it too, Starbuck." Laughing she threw herself into his arms. "I didn't think you'd be able to find a way . . . but this might actually work."

"Nothing's impossible, sweet lady." he replied with a chuckle, letting himself fall back on the longseat and pulling her down on top of him. "It only requires a little well-disguised effort."

"I'm surprised you're even considering this. I didn't think you'd want me out of scanner range." It spoke volumes of his faith in her ability.

"I want us to be on the same ship, Lu. I need someone to rub my feet at the end of the day."

The words were teasing, but they failed to hide the concern buried deep in his blue eyes. This solution—while an exciting opportunity and challenge for her—worried him. It was only natural that it would. "Ask Malus."

"I'd be afraid he'd say yes." He shrugged. "He seems overly fond of me. He told me it's a glitch in his programming."

"And hopefully it never gets corrected. Anyway, I know how he feels," she rejoined playfully, snuggling close and glancing out the viewport. She looked him in the eyes, and they rapidly forgot about the time, Malus, and everything else. Soon, clothes, food, and just about everything else was scattered all around the longseat, as the two lost themselves in each other, with only the stars as witness.

"Starbuck . . ." she asked, finally, laying her head across his shoulder. He stroked her hair.

"Yeah?" he asked, shifting beneath her.

"Do you think they made it?"

His gaze followed hers to the viewport, staring at the stars that stretched out endlessly before them. He was silent for a long moment. "They made it."

He had to be bluffing. "How do you know?"

"The Ship of Lights, Dayton and his men, Planet 'P', Earth's _Worldwide Aeronautics and Space Agency_, the Guardians that showed up on Earth, the Dynamos, the wormhole, finding the old Base Ship, as well as the _Pegasus_, the comet, it was all connected, Lu. All orchestrated."

"So you figure if the Ship of Lights Beings went to those lengths to get Hummer and Dickins back to Earth, that they must have made it through the wormhole?"

"Any plan that convoluted had to come from a people with a more ridiculous bureaucracy than even our own." He smiled slightly. "Despite that . . . yeah, I think they made it. At least that's what my gut is telling me."

"I hope you're right, _Innamorato_," she murmured as she kissed him.

"I usually am . . . _Innamorata_," he returned with a tender smile, caressing her lips with his own.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Far far away . . ._

Irwin Kammhuber looked up from his book to where a light was flashing on his panel. Somewhat lazily, he reached out, and flipped a switch. The speakers filled with a loud roar.

"What the hell is that?" asked the technician at the other station, Olu Orombi, yanking the plug from his ear.

"Not sure," said Kammhuber, activating several controls. "Massive burst of radio energy, it looks like. Trying to get a fix on it. Can you retask the main dish?"

"Not without losing Doctor Moore's Sedna observations."

"I imagine he'd hate that."

"I imagine so. Okay, here are the coordinates . . ."

Suddenly, the roar in the speakers and the readings on the boards died away. Space was once more quiet.

_"__Orientale One, this is the VLA in New Mexico. Come in.__"_

_"_Orientale One here, VLA," replied Orombi. "Go ahead . . ."

_"__Did you guys pick up a massive burst of RF a while ago?__"_

"Roger that, VLA. You too?"

_"__Yeah, but it died before we could get an exact fix on it. Somewhere roughly in your upper left quadrant.__"_

"Any clues?"

_"__Not on this end. Anybody testing anything out that way?__"_

"Not on our end," replied Kammhuber. "Maybe it was a . . ."

He was cut off, as the strange wave of radio energy returned, stronger this time. As both Lunar and Earthbound technicians worked to get a fix on the mysterious phenomenon, sparks flew as circuits popped and died. Above them, hundreds of thousands of miles away in space, flickers of light began dancing across the emptiness of space. Little sparks of radiance spewed from the nothingness, then died, only to reappear moments later.

"Retask everything!" said Kammhuber.

"Retasking. Multi-spectral imagers on."

"Any ships out there?"

"Nothing listed, Irwin."

"Well, _something's_ out there . . . _holy shit!__"_

xxxxxxxxxx

Fleeing from the Cylon Tyranny, the last Battlestars, _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_, along with a salvaged and modified Cylon Base Ship renamed _Endeavour_, lead a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest . . . a shining planet known as Earth.

xxxxxxxxxx

Appreciation and thanks to Senmut for the loan of his original characters: Sire Memnon, Med Techs Tone and Waheeb, and Technician Hummer. Also for his eternal patience with edits, and his inspiring adds.


End file.
